The Return of Starbuck, Part II
by GreyGregory14
Summary: When Starbuck tries to follow the Galactica's secret heading back to the Fleet and is taken captive on a Cylon basestar, the Cylons are ready to employ extreme measures to make him reveal the Galactica's coordinates. Rated T for some violence.
1. The Planet Starbuck

Chapter 1

A crisp morning breeze assaulted me as I perched halfway up the rocky incline behind my shelter. I inhaled deeply, then shivered. One of the benefits of planet life was unfiltered air that smelled like vegetation and water vapor and dirt – or, on this planet, mainly just dirt. It was a smell I had never really noticed before joining the service and spending sectons at a time out in space, returning home to Caprica for brief furlons. Now that we were fugitives with only a battlestar and an odd assortment of spaceships to call home, planet visitations were few and far between, and I tried to make the most of each surface patrol or mission.

Of course, missions – or even visits resulting from crash-landings – were never longer than a couple days. This particular visit, on the other hand, had lasted over three sectons, and by this time I was getting disenchanted with the crude lifestyle, limited food and resources, and harsh weather. I shivered again, wishing I had thought to bring my jacket with me. It was all the way down inside the shelter, and even if I hadn't been too lazy to go get it, I wouldn't go back just yet. Angela was still asleep, and today, she deserved all the rest she could get.

I gazed thoughtfully at the cloudless sky. Who would have believed all that had happened in my short time on this planet? Thanks to my Viper's automatic escape pod, I had miraculously survived a devastating crash. Then, I found a Cylon ship occupied by three Cylons who hadn't been so lucky. After pillaging their ship for materials for a shelter, I had somehow gotten the crazy idea to try and repair one of them so I could have someone to talk to. Even crazier was the fact that I succeeded, and then convinced a less-than-friendly Cylon that we could coexist, and even learn from each other. I had called him Cy, and taught him how to play Pyramid, but it wasn't enough. In an attempt to alleviate my boredom, Cy had managed to find and bring back a woman named Angela, whose origins remained mysterious, and who was carrying a child. At her insistence, Cy and I had built a craft from his ship and my escape pod which we had finished yesterday. That was when Angela went into labor and, perhaps most incredible of all, I had singlehandedly delivered her baby boy.

"Starbuck, will you give your life for this child?" she had asked me. She was obviously emotionally overwrought after the trauma of giving birth. I had tried to reassure her that everything would be all right, that we had a whole new life ahead of us. Angela, however, seemed convinced that some sort of doom was upon us. "You must prepare yourself to make the final judgment," she declared. "Tomorrow is our last day."

Although most of what she said didn't make sense, I hoped she was right about today being our last day. The ship Cy and I had made was ready to go, and so was I. If Angela was up to it, we could leave the planet today. I had no idea where in the galaxy we would go, but nearly anything was better than this barren desert planet with its frozen nights and the winds that circled endlessly round and round. If nothing else, we could at least find a planet with better living conditions, and maybe even a human civilization. But in that case, we would have to figure out how Cy would fit in with our plans.

That was the one problem I kept coming back to: Cy couldn't seem to get over the fact that he was a Cylon and I was a human, and therefore we should not be friends. The funny thing was, his refusal seemed to stem less from loyalty to the Cylon empire and more from jealousy of Angela, and the fact that we humans naturally fit in with each other while he was the lone Cylon. I would never have guessed that a Cylon, being a machine, could take offense or imagine that he was an outcast. I'd been amazed at his initial ignorance about humans, but now I was beginning to wonder just how much we humans didn't know about our enemy. I was able to persuade Cy not to kill me; was there a way that we could persuade the Cylon empire not to exterminate the human race? That the empire's goal of organizing the universe was, in the end, futile and pointless?

A sudden flash of light in the distance caught my attention. I jumped to my feet, trying to catch a glimpse of the source, but it was just out of view. Whatever it was lay far away from my shelter and Cy's ship, out where there should only be rocks and sand, nothing that could glint in the sun. I scrambled over the incline until I reached an outcropping high enough for a clear perspective. Then, my heart sank down into my boots.

Just this side of the distant cliffs was a Cylon fighter. And in front of the fighter, three Cylon Centurions were tramping steadily in this direction. _The automatic beacon from the Cylon ship will soon bring hostiles searching for their own,_ Angela had said. As with most of her cryptic ramblings, I had played along without really believing her, building a ship for our escape just to keep her happy. Now, it turned out she knew what she was talking about.

I dashed down the incline toward the shelter, barely keeping my footing on the jagged rocks. I had to warn Angela and get her and her baby to the ship before it was too late. There was no way I could fight off three Cylons on my own. Then my heart, which could sink no lower, started bleeding out of my boots. Make that four Cylons, counting Cy. Now that his fellow Cylons had arrived, he would likely try to regroup with them. And if he did, I would have to kill him.

I started calling Angela's name as I approached the shelter and burst inside, only to find her awake and calmly rocking the Cylon rudder which was now the baby's cradle. She glanced up at me, her brown curls immaculate as always, her blue eyes mildly inquiring.

"They're here – three of them, fully armed," I announced, yanking my laser holster down from where it hung on a lip of rock. "Listen, we'd better get ready."

"Who is here, Starbuck?"

I whirled around, laser drawn, to find Cy standing in front of the door. I hadn't noticed him sitting in the corner by the crank generator when I entered. I faced him, breathing hard, pointing my laser straight at his metallic chest plate. "Your people," I answered. "Centurions."

Cy began to turn away. "I must go."

"Cy!" He turned back. If my words weren't enough to stop him, I would have to stop him permanently. "Don't," I said, willing him to listen. "Don't make me do it."

"Goodbye, Starbuck," he replied. I tightened my grip on my laser. He turned to Angela and the baby. "Goodbye, Angela. Goodbye, godson."

I felt actual pain at hearing his name for the baby, remembering last night, when I had tried to include him in Angela's and my post-birth rejoicing. I told him he could be the child's godfather, a "special friend to the family, throughout life." Now, that life was going to end at my hand.

He was turning once again. "Cy, no!" I pleaded. "No!" I watched in anguish as, without another word, he continued out the door and was gone.

It took me a moment to realize that I hadn't killed him. I turned to Angela, who had watched the whole scene in grave silence.

"I couldn't do it," I protested. "We can't trust him; he's one of them. He can't help himself." The Cylons would be drawing steadily closer, and Cy could lead them right to us. "Listen, our only chance is to get to the ship."

"We're ready," said Angela, gently lifting the baby out of the cradle. She was just as calm as if she had been expecting everything that had transpired so far this morning.

I stared at her in bewilderment. "You're ready? How did you know? How do you . . . know everything before it happens?"

She stood and gave me a look of mild impatience. "I told you last night, Starbuck, that you had to prepare yourself – for this is judgment day."

A confusing mixture of emotions arose, and I was speechless. If this was judgment day, I certainly hadn't prepared myself. I didn't even know what I was supposed to prepare for, or how.

Angela smiled kindly, as if she knew my thoughts, and touched me on the arm. "Come, Starbuck, we must hurry."

Centons later, Angela had climbed the mounting ladder into the ship, and I climbed up after her with the baby. He was so light, I could hold him with one arm. When I reached the top of the ladder, I carefully handed him to his mother, catching a glimpse of his tiny sleeping face amidst the silver blanket. Reluctantly, I let him go, knowing I would probably never see him again and finding it suddenly very important.

There was one more thing I needed to ask the mysterious woman who knew more about what was going on than I did. "Angela," I asked humbly, nervously, "what did you mean by _judgment day_? Who's going to be judging me?"

She turned her solemn gaze upon me, and her eyes seemed to bore into my soul. "We all judge ourselves, Starbuck."

"Well, I hope so, because I plan on being very easy on myself in certain, uh, categories," I said, only half joking.

We were running out of time. "Now, look," I said, "if I run into trouble, just push that button." I pointed to a square, black button on the right side of the control panel. "The ship's programmed to head towards the Fleet's secret heading. No matter how far she deviates to avoid Cylons, she'll always return to that heading sooner or later. The ship will also automatically lower your body temperatures to sustain life for a maximum period of time."

Angela was giving me that earnest look again, and I wondered whether she had heard any of my instructions. "You _are_ a good man," she declared. "You couldn't hurt Cy, and now you send us off, knowing that without you, the fuel will last twice as long."

"Who says I'm not coming along?" I smiled innocently. Her expression told me she wasn't buying it. I studied her for a moment, trying to decipher how she could tell so easily what I was thinking. Maybe the Pyramid face I'd perfected over the yahrens was getting a little rusty after three sectons on this planet.

"Goodbye, Starbuck," she said in that soft, melodious voice of hers. She placed her hand on top of mine where it rested on the side of the ship and gazed deeply into my eyes. "I truly love you."

Of all the people in the universe, I at least should understand the meaning of those words coming from the mouth of a woman. But Angela was one woman I had not even come close to understanding, and her words were more flustering than gratifying.

"Look," I stammered, "I'd better . . . seal the ship. Just in case." I broke away from Angela's gaze and pressed the button to close the canopy. Then I clambered down the ladder, tossed it out of the way, activated the external launch control on the side of the ship, and ran down the hill as fast as I could.

I turned around just in time to watch the turbos fire and the makeshift craft blast upward into the atmosphere, traveling off on a tangent until the low rumble of its pulsars could no longer be heard. Angela's parting words lingered in the empty air.

"I love you too," I murmured. "Both of you."

Whistling sounds directly followed by explosions jarred my consciousness, and I instinctively broke into a run before I'd even seen the laser blasts streaking the ground in front of my feet or the Cylons from which they came just appearing over a rise. Dodging the fatal beams, I slid behind a boulder that came up to shoulder height and crouched down against it, using the temporary safety to catch my breath and hopefully come up with a plan of attack. I sneaked another look at the three death machines marching relentlessly forward, projecting a regular meteor shower of laser fire in front of them.

"Oh, felgercarb," I groaned. "Three against one. Well, this isn't gonna be fair."

"Three against two is better." I jerked around to see Cy coming out of the shelter, and relief washed over me. He hadn't betrayed us after all. He was still on my side.

As he approached, Cy drew from his holster his Cylon laser pistol, which had been damaged somehow when the Raider crashed. It was a good thing, too, since the first thing the Cylon had done when I revived him was try to shoot me.

"Cy! That thing doesn't work, remember?"

"I repaired it," the Cylon said matter-of-factly. Ah, that explained why he had left Angela and me – he was getting his weapon and repairing it. But there was no way he could have repaired it so quickly. I got a funny feeling when I realized he must have fixed it some time ago when I wasn't looking, maybe during the night when we humans were getting our required rest. I had to wonder whether he had done it as a basic survival measure, or whether he distrusted me enough to want protection. But it didn't matter now.

"Wait here," Cy ordered, tramping towards the approaching Cylons.

"Cy, you can't go out there!" I protested. With the odds against us, our strategy would depend on the advantage the boulder could give as a shield to shoot from behind. A direct frontal assault would never succeed.

Ignoring me completely, the Cylon marched right past the boulder into the open. I sighed, wondering what in the galaxy he was trying to do. The Cylons had stopped shooting sometime after they lost sight of me behind the boulder, and they did not start again when Cy came into view. I threw furtive glances around the boulder to see the three Cylons and Cy approach each other until they came to a halt about six metrons apart. All four of them had their weapons trained on each other.

"Greetings, Centurion," said one of the three. "Identify."

"I am group leader Cyrus," said Cy. I was struck with how fitting my nickname for him actually was. "Lower your weapons," he commanded.

The Cylons complied, but asked at the same time, "And where is the human."

I waited in suspense for Cy's answer. There was a pause for a few microns. Then he said, "I extend my weapon, that I may perform the following function."

A laser blast issued from his weapon and downed the Centurion on the right. Another blast took out the one in the middle. I was amazed at how well Cy's plan was actually working – like a human, he was relying on the element of surprise.

And then it happened. The systematic killing of his comrades had given the third Cylon time to recognize what was happening and react. Before Cy could shoot again, the other Centurion raised his weapon and fired. There was a massive burst of sparks from Cy's chest plate, and he began to totter.

I leaped out from behind the boulder and shot an indelible mark in the other Cylon's chest plate, causing him to collapse. Then I ran as fast as I could toward Cy, calling his name as he sank to his knees.

"Cy!" I reached the Centurion before he fell over completely and lowered him onto my lap. "You saved our lives!" The Cylon was unresponsive. I ran my eyes over the shiny metal which reflected the sky above, looking for damage. "Cy, are you all right?"

"I don't think so," he said without emotion. "My circuits are fading."

"No, Cy! No!" After we made it this far together, he couldn't just die! Two humans and three Cylons had come and gone, and we were still not enemies.

"Cy, it's just you and me now," I said in a near-whisper, fighting a lump in my throat. "One human. One Cylon."

"No, Starbuck," he replied. "Not human. Not Cylon." His hand reached up to rest against my cheek. "Friends."

The low droning of the visual scanner grew slower and slower until it faded completely, the red eye rolling to a stop on one side. The Cylon's arm dropped, and his head fell sideways. He was dead.

I don't know how long I sat there with his form resting on top of me, feeling and trying not to feel. He was a Cylon, for crying out loud! Why should I care? But my chest heaved and my heart ached with sorrow which I couldn't deny any more than I could explain it. He had given his life to save me. He was my friend.

As time passed, I grew acutely aware that I was once again the lone inhabitant of the Planet Starbuck. Angela and the baby were gone, which left me with four dead Cylons. The isolation was worse now than it had been when I arrived. I needed to leave.

Getting out from under the Cylon, I realized I must have been there for a while since my legs were almost completely numb. I stumbled over to the shelter and packed up what was left of my supplies, then hurried toward the Raider the Cylons had left below the cliff. As soon as I regained enough feeling in my legs, I ran the rest of the way.

When I reached the ship, I did a quick check to make sure she was operational, then climbed inside and prepared to launch. Up to that point, I had refused to look back at where I had come from. But now, I took one last look through the viewport at the planet which had been my home and the machine which had been my companion for the past few sectons. Then I launched into space, hoping I would never see any of it again.


	2. Out There Amongst the Stars

Chapter 2

I was in a metallic space surrounded by high walls on all sides. A faint light radiated from what appeared to be a panel far above me. I tried to get up to examine it, but found I could not move.

"This is Probe One, do you read?" Boomer's voice crackled over what sounded like a com. "Do you read?" I attempted to call out, but speaking was impossible as well.

"Boomer, look at the life form reading!" came the voice of Sheba. "One human. Do you think it could be . . . ?"

"I don't know," Boomer replied. "I'm not sure that's even possible at this point. And look at the construction of that thing – the tail end looks like it was made by Cylons. It might be a trick."

"But Boomer, there's a human on that ship. If it isn't a trick, then whoever it is might need our help. I think we should try to rescue the ship and bring it back to the _Galactica_."

Boomer let out an audible sigh. "Okay, we'll try it, but be careful. Let's just hope whoever it is appreciates our help."

The scene switched suddenly to an area that was much warmer and brighter. Lying on my back, I gazed up at the high, circular ceiling which shone faintly blue with recessed lighting.

"I don't understand! It doesn't make sense!" Cass? I tried to turn my head, but once again found myself immobile.

"It is strange, to be sure. But I'm afraid there is no denying the results." The other speaker sounded a lot like Chameleon.

Approaching footsteps, and suddenly Cass was directly overhead, looking into my eyes. Her brow furrowed in confusion, which gradually melted into wistfulness. "Where are you, Starbuck?" she murmured.

I jerked upward and opened my eyes to see the glowing control panel of a Cylon Raider before me. My heart sank. It had all been a dream.

Checking my timepiece, I found I had been asleep for about three centars. It was the longest I had slept at one time since I'd left the planet two days ago. The fact that I had no place to go, no goal to reach, had made it strangely difficult to relax. And the hunger pangs weren't helping either.

"Let's see where we are," I said aloud, pressing a button several times until the scanner switched to short-range scan. The Cylon instruments weren't exactly intuitive, but with a bit of experimenting, I felt like I was on track to understanding how they all worked in about a yahren or so. Hopefully I could get by with knowing little more than how to launch, land, scan, and fire the lasers until then. I briefly wondered whether the Cylons would have installed a self-destruct button that was just waiting to be discovered, but dismissed the idea as unlikely.

"Hmm, not much happening around here. A couple small planets which, according to this handy little scanner, don't seem to have an atmosphere compatible with life forms."

Disappointed, I switched back to long scan. What was I really expecting? A habitable planet complete with food and water and maybe a civilization to pop up just in time to save me? I laughed without humor. Some days it seemed like everything simply fell into place, but other days, no matter how hard I tried, I barely survived by the skin of my teeth. Still, I did survive, until now.

My stomach squeezed painfully in a hopeless search for anything left worth digesting. I licked my lips. "Getting hungry? Yeah, me too. How long has it been since we last ate? Two, three days?" This was getting ridiculous. There was no way that I could make it back to the _Galactica_. If I read the Cylon gauge correctly, my fuel was running out, and I would probably die of starvation even before that. I could already feel the strength draining out of me. My vision was blurry, my mind kept wandering, and for the life of me I couldn't stop talking to myself!

"That's the trouble with these solo missions, Starbuck – they start to drive you a little crazy. Come to think of it, don't remember being completely by myself for so long since . . . actually, since that day of solitary confinement at the Academy. Was that after the firecracker incident? Nah, that wasn't serious enough. It couldn't have been the salt thing – that was at the orphanage. Was it the fight with Charax? Maybe it was just a buildup of offenses. I can't remember anymore."

I pushed a few of the glowing red, white, and green square buttons, then sat back and stared out at the stars, imagining what it would be like to travel a few more centons and stumble upon the _Galactica_. The hunger in my stomach was almost forgotten in the presence of a deeper hunger for my home and the faces of my friends. As much as I'd always had trouble admitting that I formed attachments with people, those attachments had become vitally important now that I was about to lose them. Rather, they were about to lose me. What I wouldn't give to see them once more: to laugh together, fly together, fight together, even die . . . together.

"Come on, Starbuck, get a grip!" I shoved away the dejection that had crept up on me. "If you want to make it back to the _Galactica_, the least you can do is die trying." I leaned forward and checked the controls. After some experimenting with the Cylon-programmed computer, I'd figured out how to set the Raider on course for the _Galactica's_ secret heading, the same one I'd told Angela about. Hopefully she and the little guy were safely on their way. I shut them out of my mind the way I'd been shutting out all memories of the past few sectons. There was too much confusion, too much disappointment, both of which I had enough of already. Scanning the interior of the Cylon fighter, I looked for a way to distract myself from my own thoughts. The small silver survival pack lying on the floor next to me caught my eye. I hoisted it onto my lap and rifled through the contents until I found what I was looking for – a deck of Pyramid cards.

Half a centar later, what had started out as a game of Solitary had morphed into a four-player hand. The raised, flat surface between the Cylon pilot seats, whatever its original purpose, made a terrific card table.

"Okay, Boomer, let's see what you've got," I said, picking up one of the piles arranged on each side of the makeshift table. "Not too bad. But not too good either." I replaced his hand and picked up my own.

"Mm hmm." I did my best to keep my face passive, although there was no one around to fool but myself. "I think we're gonna call. And we have a half pyramid! Hmm, that beats Boomer . . ." I threw his cards into the middle, " . . . that beats Jolly . . ." I did the same with his hand, ". . . but wait a centon, we have a surprise comeback from none other than . . . Lieutenant Sheba, with a three-quarter pyramid!" I mimed a smirk from Sheba, Boomer and Jolly laughing, and me beating my head on the table.

"So, Sheba, just how did you manage to beat some of the best Pyramid players in the universe, including yours truly?" I inquired with a voice that would have gotten me hired on the spot as a reporter for the IFB.

"Are you kidding?" I answered myself in a high-pitched, indignant tone of voice. "My father, the illustrious Commander Cain, taught me how to play at the age of three, and I was beating him and his fellow officers by the age of six." I tossed my hair, which probably looked funny since there wasn't that much to toss. "You mama's boys are simply no match for the daughter of the greatest military commander of all time, and you'd better never forget it."

I chuckled. "Well, that might apply to the rest of the present company, but in case you've forgotten, some of us can't possibly be accused of being a mama's boy, literally or figuratively. For reputation's sake, I hereby challenge you to another hand, one on one."

A sniff and another hair toss. "I accept!"

"Good. I'll deal." I scooped up the cards and started shuffling, laughing a little. Back at the Academy, we used to have competitions of who could do the best imitations of our instructors, a skill which some of us still used in our lighter moments. This wasn't the first time I'd mimicked Sheba since she came to the _Galactica_, but I always made sure only to do it when Apollo wasn't around. The sassy female pilot had become both healthy competition and a good friend, and any teasing in her presence or absence was all in good fun, but Apollo might not understand. No matter how much he denied it, I had my suspicions that he and Sheba were on track to something more than just a professional relationship – and I was kind of an expert on such things.

_Beep beep! Beep beep!_ The deck of cards dropped from my hands as I jumped, exclaiming. I'd been so engrossed in my imaginary game that I'd forgotten to monitor the scanner. I jolted forward and watched as the scanner brought up an image. It was a Cylon basestar, mere kilometrons away. My head jerked up to look out the viewport, and I froze. I was headed on a direct crash course with the basestar's core!

I grabbed the controls and yanked hard to the right. "Come on, baby, come on!" A memory surfaced of Adama chewing me out about another card game with near-disastrous consequences. _How do you get yourself into these fixes? _How, indeed?

A burst of static, and the com suddenly came to life. "For permission to land, please identify," said a monotone Cylon voice.

"I don't want to land, and I definitely don't want to identify," I muttered, steering a little smoother. If I could just get far enough away before the Cylons realized my Raider wasn't flying under orders, I might be able to escape.

"Identify, or we will be forced to fire," the voice came again. Terrific.

"If you insist," I said, swerving back around to face the base ship. I shot my lasers and took out the gun turret directly in front of me. Then I engaged the turbo thrusters, hoping against hope to get away.

But it was too late. In microns, an array of Raiders appeared to the rear on my scanner. I counted one, two, three, four, five. Those were near impossible odds even in a Viper, and I wasn't going to get any help. Maybe shooting at the basestar before flying away had been a bad decision. Either way, I didn't have time for regret at the moment; what I needed was a plan of attack.

The fighters were getting close. They would start firing any micron. I checked my instruments, read the scanner, searched my brain – but there was no way out of this one.

"Well, if it's my time to go, at least I can take a few of them with me." Just a few more microns before they would be on top of me. Swinging around in a tight 180-degree turn, I faced the enemy fighters and started shooting a continuous volley, not bothering to aim. The repetitive thrusting of the laser generators vibrated the entire ship, massaging the adrenaline that pulsed through my blood in my suicide run.

"Eeeee-yoo!" I howled as two Raiders exploded in front of me. Bursting through their dust, I cut hard to the side and came back around to finish off the others.

I should have known by now to account for Cylon reaction time being faster than expected. I should have remembered that my Raider had much less maneuverability than a Viper, and my inexperience cut it down even further. But the thought that I might still have a chance at destroying the Cylons before they got me had me so excited that all other thoughts deserted my brain.

Then it happened. Before I'd even finished the turn, a huge explosion rocked my ship. Red lights and warning klaxons coming from every part of the controls were the last thing I heard as I hurtled out of my seat and my head slammed into something solid.


	3. We Are Enemies

_Warning: This chapter and the next contain violence which, although it is not needlessly graphic, may be too intense for a younger or more sensitive audience._

Chapter 3

Headache.

I groaned and reached up to rub my fingers against my temple. As the pressure eased, I tried to recall how I had gotten into such a state. My memory gradually released the image of a Pyramid game last night with Boomer, and maybe Jolly, or was it Greenbean? I couldn't remember having any ambrosa, but it was the only explanation for this killer hangover.

My fumbling fingers found an uneven spot on my scalp, causing a stab of pain. That was weird. I rubbed the small, sticky lump carefully. I must have fallen and hit my head on something.

Boy, was I thirsty! I managed to crack my eyes open and blinked several times to clear my vision. The surroundings were unfamiliar – just tylinium walls a couple metrons away. This couldn't be the officers' quarters. Maybe the Life Station? Was I hurt?

"Cass?" I called hoarsely. No response. "Cassiopeia? Anybody?"

"The human is conscious." The monotone voice of a Cylon Centurion startled me. Then, in a rush, it all came back to me – the basestar, the Cylon fighters, getting shot. I groaned again, this time in frustration. What had I gotten myself into this time?

"Inform Nimbron," said the voice from nearby, although I wasn't completely sure it was the same voice. With Cylons it was hard to tell.

"By your command." Now that voice sounded different, a pitch lower perhaps. Tramping of Cylon legs followed the words, fading into the distance.

As I woke up a little more, I started taking in my surroundings. I seemed to be lying on a table-like structure pushed up against the left-hand wall. On my right, about two metrons away, was a door. It held a small square window about two hands across. Through the window I could see the shiny shoulder of a Centurion guard.

Carefully, I pushed myself up into a sitting position, feeling a brief unsteadiness. I seemed to be all in one piece, except for a missing laser and holster and the bump on my head. My head was still throbbing, though, and my mouth was dry. It would be nice if I could have a drink from the water that was in my pack before the Cylons decided to do anything else to me. It took me all of three microns to be sure that my pack was not in the cell.

"Hey, guard!" I called.

The Centurion turned. "What is it."

"I'm getting dehydrated; I need water. Can you bring me my pack?"

"You will be presented to our base ship commander in a few centons to decide your fate. You do not need water before that."

If I was going to die immediately, that might be true. But if I had any chance of making it, I needed all the help I could get. My brain went into hyper drive for a convincing argument, and, as usual, it didn't take long to find one.

"But I . . ." I broke off and made myself start coughing. "I can't . . ." More coughing. ". . . talk to your commander if I'm . . ." I took a deep breath and coughed as hard as I could. This had better work since my throat was beginning to hurt and now I needed water more than ever.

"Please?" I choked helplessly. I gave the Cylon an imploring look and coughed again for good measure. The Cylon turned around and disappeared out of sight of the window. In a centon he returned, pausing briefly in front of the door to activate something before the door slid open. He didn't have a key card in hand, so either the lock was controlled by a different method or there was no lock, and the only obstacle was the Cylon guard. As the guard approached, I tried to get a glimpse through the open door of what lay outside my cell, but couldn't see anything except the wall across the corridor.

The Cylon dropped the pack to the floor in front of me with a clatter. "Hey, take it easy," I said. "Wouldn't do much good if my canteen broke before I got a drink, would it?" I hoisted the pack onto the bed and dug through it to find the water. The Cylon stood ominously close and watched as I gulped down all of what was left in the canteen.

"Ah, that's good. Any chance you put my Pyramid cards in here?"

"I do not understand what you are speaking of," the Cylon said. That's right, Cy hadn't known about Pyramid either. For a moment, in my mind I was back on the planet, sitting at a makeshift table and teaching the Cylon how to play. I wished it was he that stood in front of me, and not one of his more hostile counterparts. Then it occurred to me – how did I know this Cylon was hostile? He could simply be doing his duty for the Empire, brainwashed, as Cy had been, to think that all humans were evil. Maybe I could convince him there was more to the story, even get him to help me escape. Maybe we could be . . .

_Starbuck, your brain's really gone into retrograde orbit this time! _I quickly realigned my thoughts with reality. The Cylons were still the enemy. They still planned to eradicate the human race, of which I was an unashamed member. On the Planet Starbuck, Cy and I had been on an even playing field as the only living beings on the planet. Actually, I had had a slight advantage at the beginning when I could turn Cy off and on, and I had also possessed the only working weapon. Here, the advantage was all on the side of the Cylons, and it was unlikely that I could make a Cylon question the status quo here in his home environment among his people. Right now, I needed to figure out how to survive without any help from the Cylons – in spite of them, to be exact.

"Are you finished."

I looked up at the waiting Cylon and realized why he was still standing there. "Don't tell me you're going to take my stuff away again?"

"It is standard procedure," the Cylon answered. I nudged the pack slightly in his direction, and he promptly took it and marched out of the cell. It was too bad to lose a blanket to soften this so-called bed, as well as all the other convenient supplies, but as long as I was hydrated, I knew I could survive. I had done it before.

Microns after the first Cylon resumed his post in front of the door, another showed up to announce, "Nimbron is ready to examine the human."

The guard opened the door again and entered, brandishing his laser rifle. "Get up and come with us," he ordered.

"Sure thing," I said, rising and ambling out the door with the guard behind me. "Although you could've asked a little nicer."

Once we entered the corridor, the guard moved to flank me on my right, and the other Cylon took my left. I glanced at my cell door and saw that there was some sort of lock on the outside.

"Move, human," said the second Cylon, shoving me in the back with his laser rifle.

"Okay, okay, I'm going!" I said, stumbling. "Take it easy!" I kept up a steady pace after that, as well as a steady stream of talk to distract the anxious part of my mind and make the Cylons think I wasn't using the observant part of my mind.

"You guys really could learn better manners," I said as we marched the gray, sterile corridor. "And your diplomacy . . ." I whistled. "All I can say is, if you guys didn't go around killing people all the time, your foreign relations would be so much better. And just look at the way you treat prisoners! No wonder you're not the most popular kids in town."

We entered another corridor with cooling vents lining one wall all the way to the ceiling. That meant we were nearing the basestar's throne room where the commander was.

"But I guess it doesn't matter as much who likes you when there are more of you," I continued, my rambling getting faster. "You hate everybody else, so you beat up on everybody else, and no one can stop you. It's kind of sad, really. You're missing out on a lot. Once the universe is organized, it'll be just a bunch of Cylons. What'll you do then, huh? If there are no battles to fight, there's not gonna be much use for battlestars or Raiders . . . or Centurions."

"Silence," said the guard. I couldn't tell if it was because I hit a nerve – more accurately, a circuit – or because he was annoyed with my gabbing. Now that I wasn't talking anymore, I noticed I was breathing pretty fast. I ran my fingers back through my hair.

_ Pull it together, Starbuck. You can do this. Show those Cylons they don't scare you one bit. Be a Warrior and make the Colonies proud. Or at least try to get through this without betraying them. Staying alive would also be a definite plus._

There it was – the translucent oval door behind which an IL-Series sat waiting to give me my sentence. He was probably looking forward to it as the most exciting part of his day. Well, I'd be sure not to disappoint him. The corner of my mouth stretched upward in a smirk as I thought about how just how much fun I could have with this guy. Since I was in front, I stepped forward to press the door activator.

"Stay back," the Cylon on my left commanded, jerking me backward. Keeping his cringe-inducing grip on my arm, he waited until the other Centurion activated the door and went inside before dragging me along behind.

As I entered the throne room of a basestar for the second time in my life, I was once again impressed with how empty the gigantic space was, void even of decoration. It was a testimony to the Cylons' machinehood – if an object didn't have a purpose, it didn't exist. That didn't bode well for me. The Cylons must have a purpose for rescuing me, and if I didn't provide what they wanted, I was a goner. Unless, of course, I figured out a way to escape.

When we came in, the IL-Series had been facing the opposite wall, but now its throne began to rotate slowly. Another attempt at intimidation. Lesser men might have been fooled, but not me. I suppressed a laugh, imagining the IL-Series coming in here and turning to stare at the blank wall until I arrived, just to create the right effect when I walked in. One thing we didn't give the Cylons enough credit for was a flair for the dramatic.

"Commander Nimbron," said the Centurion in front of me, "we have brought the human." Cylons also showed a tendency to state the obvious.

"Well done," replied the IL-Series. "Release him."

"By your command." The Centurion moved out of the way while his companion let go of my arm.

"You are a Colonial Warrior," said Nimbron. The statement was both a condemnation and a challenge.

"Really?" I stopped rubbing the nearly-crushed part of my arm and looked down at myself with amazement. "This is news to me."

"You cannot deny it." The Cylon's tinny voice was arrogant, smug. "Your uniform betrays you."

"Oh, this?" I grinned. "As a matter of fact, I won this off a Warrior while playing Pyramid. He had another one, so it was okay."

"I don't believe you."

"That's too bad, since it's completely true." Unfortunately for Giles, it was. "So, since you're not doing well with this game of guess-who-I-am, I'll help you out. I am the president of the Planet Starbuck."

"Indeed? I have never heard of this planet."

"Recently renamed," I winced as the headache surged inside my skull, "when I became president."

"Where is it located?"

"You know, I'm not really sure. I'm kind of bad with locations anyway, and I have no idea where we are right now, so I don't have a good reference point."

Nimbron regarded me in silence for a moment. "If you are the president, why is it that you are away from your planet?"

While my brain got to work on an answer, my toes tapped inside my boots in time to an arbitrary rhythm. It was a habit I'd had for yahrens that, besides being undetectable, somehow helped me think better when I was concocting a really good story and relax while telling it.

"To be honest, when I said I was President, I should've added a 'former' to that. See, for a while, things were going pretty well. A few sectons after I took office, the population of the planet had quadrupled. But then . . . well, let's just say the planet wasn't big enough for all of us. Some left, and those who didn't ended up killing each other. I was the only one left. So I decided to go in search of a new planet where I could join a community and maybe run for office again."

The little purple fibers in the IL-Series Cylon's cone head lit up furiously as Nimbron listened to my story, and they continued their activity in the pause that followed. The key to baffling Cylons was to tell just enough of the truth to keep them from sensing how much you had left out and calling you out on your dishonesty. My heart thumped against my chest, and I forced myself to breathe slowly, deeply, while I waited to see if it worked.

"How did you come into possession of a Cylon Raider?" said Nimbron abruptly.

"Well, a bunch of Cylons landed on my planet and tried to kill me. After they were destroyed, there was no one else left to inherit the ship, and it was exactly what I needed for a little planet-hopping, so I took it."

"And how were you able to fly it with so little difficulty?"

Despite the water I drank earlier, my mouth was getting dry. I licked my lips before speaking. "Um, I used to have a ship of my own, really useful for getting around, you know, and it was actually when I was out looking for a new place to live that I ended up crashing my ship, and then . . ."

"You could not fly a Cylon Raider without having a prior knowledge of Cylon technology," Nimbron cut me off, "and you could not shoot lasers with such accuracy unless you had done it many times before. There is no use denying it. You are a Colonial Warrior from the _Galactica_."

One thing was for sure, this was the most perceptive, yet no-nonsense IL-Series Cylon I had ever run across. Now I was breathing in sync with each oscillation of his red eyes – once every micron. "Even if I were a Warrior, what difference would that make?" I stammered.

"All the difference in the universe," Nimbron sneered. "You can tell us exactly how to find the _Galactica_."

"But I can't! I told you, I've been stuck on a planet for sectons. I have no idea where the _Galactica _is, except that it's got to be at least a hectar or two away by now." Blood rushed to my face as I realized how much my statement implied. Now that I'd essentially admitted I was a Warrior from the _Galactica_, all I could do was stay calm and try not to say anything else potentially dangerous. It would help my concentration a lot if my head would stop hurting and I could just sit down for a centon.

"It is true that you may not be able to give us the exact location of the Fleet in the galaxy, especially considering how inept you are regarding locations." The Cylon gave an eerie, computerized chuckle that made me shudder. "However, there is one way in which you might provide assistance. The _Galactica _travels toward a secret heading, and should one possess its coordinates, one might intercept the Fleet at some point on its journey."

I forced a laugh of disbelief. "What makes you believe that kind of felgercarb?"

"Since I was not the direct recipient of the information, I am unsure of its exact source. It may be that Commander Baltar himself conveyed the information while he was still with us, or perhaps it was extracted from a Warrior like yourself." I shoved away the mental picture of what such an extraction might consist of and returned my focus to Nimbron.

"No matter the origin of this information," he continued airily, "the fact remains that, as a Colonial Warrior, you have access to the _Galactica_'s heading. Ordinarily, we would retrieve the coordinates from the navigation computer on your ship. In the process of bringing your Raider under control, however, the computer was destroyed. How you survived when it did not is still a matter of speculation. Nevertheless, we now have the opportunity to receive the coordinates directly from you."

I focused on the Cylon's cone-shaped glowing head. "What if I told you – I forgot the coordinates?"

"Of course, standard procedure would be to simply employ the use of a brain probe to extract the information. But we cannot keep such a large device aboard a basestar, and there is too little time to find an outpost which might possess one. We will be forced instead to use more, shall we say, primitive measures."

The IL-series Cylon extended an arm joint slightly, and the Centurion who was closest to me stepped even closer. His huge hand came to rest on my left arm again, and I tried not to flinch.

"For example, I might," Nimbron said, "ask him to exert a little pressure on you, as it were." He laughed his unnatural laugh again. "Would you give him a demonstration?" he asked the Centurion.

The hand closed like a claw around my elbow. A fierce red pain flared up and sharpened as his metal joints dug deep into my flesh. I shut my eyes and took forceful breaths, then cried out as I felt something in my elbow snap.

Just when I didn't think I could handle it any longer, the pressure decreased and stopped all together as the Centurion released me. Cradling my elbow in my other hand, I fell to my knees, feeling as if one more increment of pain would cause me to black out.

The voice of Nimbron taunted me from above. "Now, are you still unable to remember the coordinates? If so, I'm sure we can take a little more time to assist your memory."

Fighting the pain, I tilted my head upward to look my captor in the eye. "You can torture me until you kill me," I said quietly, "but I will never give you the coordinates."

For a moment, the Cylon stared at me, motionless. In that moment I saw myself being methodically and mercilessly tortured by Cylons, dying in pure agony, and I was nearly overwhelmed. But then, those horrific images were pushed away as the faces of my friends rose before me – Apollo, Boomer, Cassiopeia, Athena, Sheba, Adama, Tigh, and others. For their sake, I would stand firm, even if it was the end of me.

Nimbron startled me with a chuckle. "The Cylon Empire will soon be very grateful to you. Not only will you contribute to our military success, but you will also advance our scientific capabilities by allowing us to test our newest torture device – a machine called a Somatosensory Cortex Reverse Impulse Stimulator. It will connect to your brain and create neural impulses of pain of whatever intensity its operator should choose. The process is both clean and inescapable, at least in theory. Now we shall see how it works on an actual human."

He paused to let his words sink in. And they were sinking in, all right. Desperately, I made myself think about what the consequences were if I failed this final test.

"On the other hand," the Cylon continued, "you may avoid the pain and preserve your life if you simply provide us with the coordinates to the _Galactica_. This is your last chance."

Mentally I blocked out all the panic, fear, and despair which threatened to defeat me, and focused on the one ray of hope: this time, more than any other in my whole life, I knew what the right thing to do was. And I was fully determined to do it.

"Nope. Not gonna happen," I said, sounding infinitely more confident than I felt. "It's a pity to waste your time . . ." I gave an impudent shrug, then cringed as pain shot down my arm, ". . . but I guess it can't be helped." Staring him straight in his glowing red eyes, I spoke deliberately. "Because I will never, ever give you the coordinates."

For a centon, the only sound was the hum of the two Centurions' visual scanners and my own heavy breathing. Then, Nimbron spoke, his tone vacant of emotion. "Very well then. We shall see if it is indeed such a waste of time as you suppose. Centurions, take him to the chamber."

"By your command."

I rose to my feet before the Cylons could grab me and pull me up. We marched back out the door and down long corridors, each step drawing closer to my impending doom. After an eternity of walking, we came to a passage that ended with a door. Once again, one Centurion opened the door and entered first, while the other pushed me inside behind him.

The room was on the small side, maybe about one fourth the length of the basestar's throne room. In fact, it was just big enough to hold two objects: an ominously large machine on one side, and a chair which faced the machine on the other.

"Sit." The Cylon behind me pushed me toward the chair, and I sat in it. While he began fastening the chair's metal restraints to my calves and upper arms, the other Cylon moved behind the machine. He flipped a switch, causing the many buttons on the machine to light up and a motor to rumble into operation. Then he lifted up an object which looked like a metallic skeleton of a Triad helmet, attached to the machine by a long cord. I watched with dread as he came up to me, extended his arms, and pushed the helmet down onto my head.

"Tell Commander Nimbron the torture is commencing," he said to the other Cylon.

"By your command." The other Cylon left the room.

Once he was gone, the remaining Centurion returned to the machine. "Tell us the coordinates to the _Galactica_," he said.

Last chance. "No!" I shouted.

The hand of the Cylon descended to press a button. In an instant, sharp, sizzling pain surged through my entire body and lingered, blazing with the heat of an internal flame. All the breath in my lungs shot out in a scream of agony, the first of many in the endless nightmare to follow.


	4. No Going Back

_Warning: This chapter contains violence which, although it is not needlessly graphic, may be too intense for a younger or more sensitive audience._

Chapter 4

"Tell us the coordinates to the _Galactica_."

The monotone Centurion voice recited the question which he had been posing at regular intervals since the torture began. Hesitating, I spat out a "No," knowing full well what came next.

I tensed as the Cylon hand hovered over a large black button and pushed it down. For two microns there was only the grating electrical hum as the machine created and focused its energy. Then, with a flash, my rigid body convulsed as a white-hot searing sensation rushed down from the metal frame encircling my head throughout my entire being to the ends of my fingers and toes.

The pulse lasted for about five microns before cutting off as abruptly as it began, but the aftertaste of pain took longer to drain away. My screaming subsided, and I started breathing again in ragged gasps, feeling the shock settle down into a dull burn coupled with body-wide tingling. Groaning and squirming against the bonds which fastened me to the chair, I tried to think of something to take my mind off the discomfort.

Now was the waiting period, which I had estimated to last about five centons. It gave me just enough time to think about the pain which would only grow in the next centars, but not enough time to recover before the next neural pulse. At least calculating the intervals took away the suspense, and with it another weapon the Cylons could use against me.

I swallowed in an attempt to soothe my burning throat, but my mouth was too dry for it do any good. As near as I could calculate – taking into account the fact that each micron felt like a yahren – it had been almost a centar since the torture began. In that time, I had vomited the water I drank earlier and sweated out a lot more. It was possible that I would die of dehydration even before the torture killed me. If not, I had no idea how long it would take for me to die. Since the torture was only a neural impression of pain, it could only damage by the effects the pain had on my body as well as the mental stress, both of which were turning out to be rather strong. That gave me another option: I might go insane. Then at least I would no longer be able to betray the Fleet. While I retained thought, I had to fight a constant battle against the impulse to give up and tell all. But even if I did, I knew the Cylons would kill me anyway. It was a no-win situation: die a slow, excruciating death, or die quickly, knowing I had possibly doomed the rest of the human race to extermination.

The hard truth was, no matter what happened to me or what I decided to do, no one else in the universe would know about it except for a handful of Cylons. Nobody even knew I was still alive. To my friends, I was missing in combat, presumed dead; they had no idea what a horrible death I was actually dying. Maybe it was better that way, not to needlessly magnify their grief.

Then suddenly, I remembered. Angela knew I was alive. And she and her child were traveling on a direct course toward the Fleet using the _Galactica_'s secret heading. I quickly pushed away the thought of the digits that comprised the heading, permanently imprinted on my brain. If they did catch up to the Fleet, what difference would it make? Angela knew I was alive, and she would tell them, and they would hope again. Oh, the irony! They had believed me dead while I was very much alive, and at long last, they would learn that I still lived, even as I was facing death. I let out a sardonic laugh.

"What was that, human."

"Oh, nothing," I said hoarsely, cranking up the bravado. "Just thinking how sad it is you guys have to waste so much time trying to make me talk, since it's not gonna happen in a thousand yahrens. You could at least be doing something useful like maintenance detail." I proudly displayed my new knowledge that the Cylons did actually have a maintenance detail, which had appeared promptly to clean up after I deposited human stomach contents on the floor. Apparently, the Cylons were rather finicky where cleanliness was concerned. Which kind of made sense, since they were machines programmed to organize the universe, and that probably carried over into organizing everything in their path as well.

"Tell us the coordinates to the _Galactica_," said the Cylon, not missing a beat.

I outwardly gave an exaggerated sigh, while inwardly my heart pounded. "You know what I'm gonna say."

The Cylon gave no indication that he did.

"Nope," I prompted, desperate to get it over with.

The hand moved, the machine hummed to life, and I was once again lit on fire from the inside out. Another scream tore at my throat, dying down into involuntary moaning. I closed my eyes as the remaining waves of pain radiated through me. Why was this happening to me? What had I done to deserve this nightmare?

A memory of Angela rose before me. "You must prepare yourself to make the final judgment," she had said. I remembered when I crashed on the Planet Starbuck and spent the first few days alone, wondering if the banishment and isolation was a punishment from the gods for all of my selfish acts. Was that why I was here now? Had I failed the test, been judged guilty or unworthy, and been sentenced to spend my final centars in agony? Vague impressions of the teachings of the Book of the Word, which I had picked up mainly during scoldings at the orphanage and Religious Studies class at the Academy, came to mind. If there really was a place called Hades for those who didn't measure up, this Cylon torture had to be the closest thing to it on this side of consciousness.

"Hey, whoever's fault this is, couldn't we have discussed it first?" I said aloud, not caring if the Cylon heard. "I mean, come on, what have I ever done?"

"Silence, human."

_ What have you ever done?_ came a voice in my head, sounding uncannily like Angela. I shook my head a little to recalibrate my hearing, immediately regretting it has the throbbing in my skull crescendoed.

_Haven't you spent enough of your energy, enough of your resources, towards serving yourself?_ Angela's voice again, repeating the words she had spoken back on the planet after I had told her my life story. When we met, her initial silence had inexplicably compelled me to describe my personal history in great detail to fill the void. Not only was it the first time I had ever shared so much with another person – much less a complete stranger – but it was also the first time I really saw the big picture. As I recounted certain parts of my biography, especially my dealings with women, I felt a need to justify why I never committed to a single relationship. "I guess was afraid of getting hurt; that's why I never cared if they got hurt first," I argued, only to realize that Angela had walked off.

As I mulled it over, I had to admit my reasoning was seriously flawed. I let others get hurt to protect myself? The thought was diametrically opposed to everything I stood for as a Warrior. I was supposed to be willing to die, if necessary, to defend those who depended on me. That obviously applied to situations like the one I was in now, but I'd never really considered if there was more to it – if being a Warrior meant protecting those around you in any and all circumstances.

It sounded like something from one of the old legends passed down through the yahrens, stories of heroes who were not only mighty and courageous, but gentle and courteous as well. Growing up as an orphan – fighting for my basic rights amongst a host of other people engaged in the same struggle, and seeing the worst of greed, poverty, selfishness, and suffering first-hand – I had always thought that the heroes of old were highly exaggerated. Nobody could be that unselfish and good. But when I met people like Apollo and Commander Adama, I began to think there might still be heroes living even now. They were human, and had their flaws which legends would tend to forget, but at the core they knew what they believed was right and acted on it, sometimes endangering their reputation, career, or even life to do so.

_You are ready for progress, aren't you? _Angela broke into my thoughts once again.

I let the question hang in the air. Progress to what? Giving up all my fun because it might upset somebody else? Abandoning my rights so other people could take whatever they wanted from me? Losing my personality to become a lifeless paragon, whose only passion was striving for an impossible standard of perfection?

_No._ I started at the clear answer to my unspoken thoughts. _You cannot achieve perfection, no matter how hard you try. You can only consent to the growing process which will gradually transform you into the best version of the person you are. You will not lose your personality or essence, but rather realize its highest fulfillment in accomplishing the purpose for which you exist._

"And what purpose is that?" I asked aloud, struggling to interpret Angela's typically cryptic statements. Suddenly, I saw how absurd all of this was. I was talking to a voice inside my head as if it were a real person. Of course what it said wasn't making much sense! It was a creation of my torture-weakened mind, nothing more.

"You may not speak unless you provide useful information," said the Cylon, approaching. All attention returned to my surroundings, and I stiffened as he came to stand directly over me.

"If you do not cooperate, I will increase the severity of your pain," he stated. I gulped, then choked a little on the dryness of my throat. The red glow of the visual scanner slid back and forth centimetrons from my head, its regular drone deafening. "Tell us the coordinates to the_ Galactica_."

I shut my eyes against the computer-generated syllables bombarding my senses. "No," I murmured.

Eyes still closed, I heard the Cylon walk away and breathed a sigh of relief. I opened my eyes to watch his return to the torture machine. This time, he adjusted several levers on the control panel before pushing the button once again. The machine charged for two microns and continued charging, its rumble reaching a deeper pitch than before, for a total of five microns.

And then, my senses exploded. I was aware of nothing beyond an all-encompassing, electrifying sense of pain, stronger than any I'd ever imagined. After an eternity of waiting, it began to decrease, and I heard myself screaming at the top of my lungs.

The pulse cut off and the painful sensations diminished enough for me to notice the rest of my discomfort. My head pounded like a giant pulsar, my throat was completely raw, and a nauseating prickling sensation crawled over my skin, sending me into a series of dry heaves. Moaning, I collapsed back in the chair.

"Lords of Kobol, have mercy on me," I whispered. "I can't take it any more. If you're gonna kill me, just kill me now. Please."

_Starbuck!_

Hope, fear, sympathy, and desperation filled the distant voice that called my name. The voice of Apollo.

"Apollo? Where are you?" I rasped, my eyes roving.

"Silence!" commanded the Centurion.

_You don't have to talk, Starbuck,_ came Apollo's voice, drawing steadily closer as a sort of cool, comforting feeling welled up inside me, soothing the pain to a manageable simmer. _I'm connected to you. I can hear your thoughts._

_That's impossible,_ I thought, recalling my "conversation" with Angela._ I have to be hallucinating again._

_Believe me, you're not,_ said Apollo. _The Beings of Light sent me here to help you._

My head throbbed, and I suppressed a groan. _How? Why?_

_They connected me to you so I could help you survive a couple more centars until the torture is done,_ he replied._ I don't entirely understand it myself, but I think right now my spirit is sharing your body and connecting you to my body back on the Galactica. Everything you feel, I feel too. But my body is stronger than yours, and I can handle part of the pain for you. That will keep you from wearing out as quickly, so you can stay alive. I'm also going to try to use our mental connection to create a blockade for your mind so it won't absorb all of the damage, like the way I blocked Sheba when Count Iblis tried to kill her, so he killed me instead._

_ Wait, you're not going to die because of this, are you? _I exclaimed._ I'd rather just die myself._

_ Neither of us is going to die. All we've got to worry about is making it through the next few centars. And together, I know we can do it._

_ This is so crazy, _I muttered._ I'm definitely hallucinating. Although, I guess it doesn't matter either way._

_ It doesn't matter whether you think you're hallucinating, but it does make a difference that you're not, _Apollo corrected.

_ Don't try to use logic on me._ I bent my head down so I could massage the back of my neck, hoping to ease my headache a little.

_ Yeah, I should know better by now, shouldn't I? _he laughed.

I was mentally scrambling for a comeback – which was probably counterproductive since "Apollo" could hear me forming and discarding phrases – when the Centurion's voice brought me down hard. "Tell us the coordinates to the _Galactica_."

My heart lurched against the walls of my chest as I realized I was about to experience the power of Hades once again. Before I could reconsider, I forced out the word, "No!" The Cylon began the familiar process, and I seized the sides of my chair in a death grip. Air rushed in and out of my lungs at a rapidly increasing rate.

_It's okay, Starbuck. I'm going to help you._ Apollo's words leaked faintly from behind my looming terror as the machine powered up. I squeezed my eyes shut.

A surge of heat – but this one was significantly less than the last one, closer to the intensity of the first torture setting. Terror was replaced with relief, and I recovered fairly quickly after the pulse ended and my own screaming stopped.

_What happened?_ _That one wasn't as bad as the other one. _Maybe I wasn't hallucinating after all. _Did you . . . block it? _I asked Apollo.

A moment of hesitation before Apollo replied, _Uh, yeah, I did. _He sounded almost breathless, which was strange considering he was speaking from his mind.

_ Did it hurt much? _I asked in suspicion, physically coughing as I fought to get my own breath back.

A definite hesitation. _Yeah, but it got better as it went along. I think I'm still transitioning into your body, so when it hits me, it's going to hurt me less than when it hits you._

I started debating whether this was really possible or Apollo was just trying to console me, but was distracted when my coughing turned spasmodic. Each cough grated sharply on my dry throat, followed by gasps for air. I would have given anything for a single drop of water to stop the convulsions.

Eventually, despite all appearance to the contrary, the coughing stopped on its own. I leaned my head back against the chair and closed my eyes, exhausted. _If you're in my body, you can feel all of this. You shouldn't have done it. You shouldn't have connected to me._

_Starbuck, I'm not worried about me. I'm worried about you. You're in pretty bad shape._

_ You don't say? _I retorted, my breath catching. _I'm going to die, Apollo. It would be better for you if you got out now. Just leave me and try to forget about all of this. Pretend I'm still back on that wretched planet, where you thought I was before._

_ I am not leaving you,_ said Apollo._ You are not going to die – the Beings of Light told me so. But they didn't just send me here because I could save you. They sent me because I wanted to save you, more than anything else. And I swear that's what I'm going to do!_

A lump rose in my throat as I realized just how glad I was that he wasn't going to leave me. _Thanks, Apollo. This . . . means a lot._

_Don't mention it, buddy. I'm just glad you're going to be okay._

My attempt at a laugh came out more like a sob. _Well, I wouldn't exactly call this okay, but I guess it's better than dying._

_ Now you sound more like yourself. So, we've got a couple centars together. You let me know how I can help you, and I'll do it._

_ It's a deal._

During the next couple centars, I came to be more grateful for Apollo's presence than I could ever express. The Cylon continued to question me at intervals, and my silence always brought greater pain for a longer duration. As I grew weaker, Apollo did what he could to ease the struggle. When I felt up to it, I answered his questions about my adventures of the past few sectons, carefully suppressing all thoughts of Cy. In this way, I came to learn that my hybrid craft had been found by a patrol a few days ago, with the baby inside, alive and well.

_But it doesn't make sense, _I protested. _There's no way the ship could have made it to the Fleet so fast. And where could Angela have gone?_

_ I don't know the answer to the first question, _said Apollo, _but I think I have some insight into the second one. When I was in the Ship of Lights, the woman who asked me if I would be willing to connect with you to save your life introduced herself as Angela._

I grunted with recognition as it all fell into place. _Of course! She's a Being of Light! That would explain . . . I don't know why I didn't guess it before._

Another thought struck me. _Apollo,_ I said suddenly, _if Angela's gone, who's going to take care of the baby?_

_ I don't know. Cassiopeia's been looking after him since he was rescued. We had no idea where he came from, so Cassie and Doctor Salik have been running tests and monitoring his health. If he's cleared, he'll probably go to live on the Orphan Ship._

_ No! _I exclaimed. _You can't let that happen!_

_ Why not?_ asked Apollo, startled.

Images of my yahrens at the orphanage flooded my mind: the big kids who would steal your food when no one was looking and devise creative ways to hurt you for the fun of it; the hardened staff who punished you for accidents like breaking a bowl or falling out of a tree; the winter nights spent shivering under a threadbare blanket with three or four other kids; the long days locked away in a tiny room, burning with fever, with only a pitcher of water and a cross orderly who appeared a few times each day to make sure you were still alive; the childhood of abuse and neglect which I had managed to cope with, but would never wish on anyone else – especially not this child.

_Things may be different now, Starbuck,_ said Apollo quietly. I'd forgotten he knew what I was thinking, and momentarily wished I hadn't revealed so much about my past to him. I generally tried to overlook previous hardships and focus on the positives in my life; it made a lot more sense than complaining and becoming bitter. I also tried to keep my less-than-ideal childhood as much of a secret as I could, since even without the details, the fact that I was an orphan was enough to make people awkward, embarrassed, or patronizing towards me. But, I reminded myself, Apollo was different. The facts of my past never changed the way he treated me, and he made a point of not asking invasive questions and giving me space where I needed it. That was one of the reasons he was my friend.

_Times have changed,_ Apollo continued. _The Orphan Ship is under Council jurisdiction, and, though the Council doesn't handle military affairs too well, you've got to admit it tries to keep its civilian responsibilities in good order._

_You don't get it,_ I argued. _The orphanage where I grew up was government sponsored, and that didn't prevent a lot of problems with the system. Considering the Orphan Ship was organized right after the Destruction, the staff are probably mostly volunteers who signed on for various reasons. You have the few who do it because they really want to help the kids, but then there's always the ones who do it because they feel it's their duty, or because they like power, or because they . . . want to exploit the kids._ My jaw clenched as I shoved more memories back, not for the first time. _I'm not gonna let that happen to that baby._

Apollo sighed. _All right, I agree that it could be a bad situation, but what else can we do with him?_

_Find someone who can take care of him, who can give him a family._

_ Most of the people in the Fleet who don't already have a family are either too busy or just struggling to survive. Who are we going to find with enough time and resources to take care of a baby less than a quatron old?_

_I don't know!_ _But there has to be somebody. We've got to try, Apollo. That kid deserves a break, and he's gonna get it as long as I have a say._

Another round of torture broke off the conversation. By this time, the first Centurion had been replaced with another, who soon brought the torture up another notch. Despite Apollo's support, my body was becoming tremendously worn out. Aside from the memory of pain which burned even when there was no actual torture, my breathing was labored, my heart raced, my stomach hurt, my elbow was sore, and I was extremely thirsty. I started slipping in and out of delirium and sometimes passing out for a few centons at a time. Apollo transmitted as much strength and relief from himself as he could, recalling memories from our past – like violating curfew at the Academy, playing practical jokes on new cadets, and almost getting ourselves killed after "upgrading" our Vipers – in an attempt to tighten my grip on sanity.

It was after an episode of unconsciousness, when I had just reawakened and was feeling unsteady, that the Centurion approached to stand over me.

"Your time is running out," he announced. "Give us the coordinates to the _Galactica_ or die."

_He's going to do it, Apollo!_ I panicked, explosions of wordless fear filling my mind. _He's going to kill me now!_

_Calm down, Starbuck!_ Apollo had to shout to be heard over the tumult in my thoughts. _He's not going to kill you. The Beings of Light told me so._

"Tell us the coordinates to the _Galactica_!" the Cylon demanded. I inhaled sharply, and choked on my own breath. "No," I said, thrusting the words out between the coughing, "I . . . will not . . . give you . . . the coordinates."

Without another word, the Centurion stepped back to resume his place behind the torture machine. As he adjusted the controls once again, I managed to stop coughing but continued gasping for air.

_Hey, take it easy, Starbuck, _said Apollo, sounding concerned. _Just take a deep breath and let it out slowly._

_ I - I can't! I can't stop inhaling! _No matter how hard I strained to control my breathing, my lungs, already stretched to the limit, were still forcing in huge gulps of air. I began trembling violently in sheer terror.

_ It's okay, buddy,_ Apollo called. _You're just hyperventilating. Try to calm down. I'll protect you from whatever is going to happen, I promise. _

The Centurion extended his arm to press the button, and my panic spiraled out of control. Bellowing incoherently at the top of my lungs, I started wrenching against the bonds on my arms with all my remaining strength, oblivious to any pain the movement caused. The hoarse screeching which sounded anything but human covered the sound of the machine powering up for two microns . . . five microns . . . seven microns . . .

At ten microns, the shock of a lightning bolt. I couldn't see anything, hear anything, feel anything beyond giant talons ripping me apart. Then, the anguish diminished as I felt a spinning sensation. Before my eyes appeared an enormous nova, an explosion of light and all the colors of the spectrum, the most beautiful I'd ever seen. It rushed closer and closer until suddenly, it disappeared, and all was dark.


	5. Starting from Scratch

Chapter 5

Without knowing exactly when it started, I became conscious of snatches of sound and vague sensations. At some point, the sensations became warmth, and cold, and touch, and pain, and the sound became voices. I struggled to reach a world that lay just beyond my grasp, fighting through nightmares in blind anxiety that threatened to suffocate me. But whenever the fear became too great, something always brought me back –– a pressure on my hand and a voice that rose and fell like the melody of a song. I listened until the music became words, and I began to understand.

". . . Looking better now. Are . . . nice dreams? I hope so . . . hope you wake up soon. I want to see those blue eyes of yours. I've missed you so much."  
Not only were the words becoming clearer, but the voice was changing in tone, sounding pinched. "You have no idea how much I've missed you. I miss the way you laugh when something funny surprises you. I miss that look you get on your face when you do something you shouldn't but you pretend not to care. I miss hearing you say my name."

A long pause. Then, "Will you wake up for me, Starbuck? I know you can do it. Come on, Starbuck. You're a fighter. Don't give up now."

I fought against the weight of a total absence of energy. Starting at my toes, I pushed up with every bit of strength left in me until it reached my eyelids, and at last, I opened my eyes.

It took a bit of blinking for my eyes to adjust, but then I could see her, looking down at me. Her mouth was frozen open, her eyes locked in place. "Starbuck," she whispered. A sudden smile spread across her face, radiating warmth and safety. "Hello there." She moved her arm where I couldn't see, and a low beeping sounded. "Are you doing all right?"

A hissing noise of a door, and an older man rushed into view. He seemed familiar, but I couldn't remember his name.

"He's awake," she said. But the man was already focusing on me.

"Hello, Starbuck," he said. "Good to see you. How are you feeling? Any pain?"

I couldn't move or speak; I barely had the strength to twitch one finger. All I could do was lie still, breathing, watching.

The man glanced at the monitor. "Vitals have improved, and he seems to be showing visual tracking. He might not be very responsive yet, but that's to be expected."

My eyes closed again. I heard him say, "Would you sit with him for a little longer until shift change?"

"Of course. Longer, if you want me to." The last thing I felt was a hand brushing my hair back off my forehead.

Then I became lost in a series of dreams, until the next time I woke, I couldn't remember where I was. Panic squeezed my chest. I didn't know why or how, but there was danger hanging over me, and I needed to escape. I tried to get up, but my arms and legs only flailed helplessly. My eyes darted around what little I could see of the room as I gulped for air. An alarm suddenly went off, adding to my fear.

"Starbuck." A face appeared in front of mine. Cassiopeia.

"It's okay, you're safe." She picked up my hand and clasped it in her own warm one. "You're safe."

My heart rate settled closer to normal. I exhaled heavily.

"That's right, just relax."

She started to get up, but I clung to her hand — my only guarantee that an unknown, wretched fate would not snatch me up in the next centon.

"Hey, I'm here," she said, sitting down again. "I'm not leaving. I'm just going to fix the covers like this, see?" Her other hand reached out and tugged my blanket smooth. Then she wrapped my hand in both of hers, and I fell asleep.

Then came a period when I slept and woke repeatedly, not knowing how much time had passed. Sometimes it was Cassiopeia that sat beside me; sometimes it was another medtech, or occasionally the doctor; once I thought it was Commander Adama, but was too groggy to be sure. But I was never alone. If I was fully awake, whoever it was would usually ask if I needed anything, then proceed through a series of questions: my name, rank, squadron, and current location. I could always answer correctly, but only in one to three word sentences. Speaking was hard for several reasons: it took a lot of energy, my mouth felt like it hadn't been used for twenty yahren, and my voice was a lot hoarser than I remembered.

By degrees, I became more aware of my surroundings. I was not in the central area of the Life Station, but a smaller chamber which held only one life pod and a set of monitors and cabinets. There were numerous appliances attached to me, including sensors on my chest, oxygen prongs in my nose, an intravenous line stuck in my right arm and a silver sleeve covering my middle finger. My left arm was bent and held stationary by a splint. I had a sore throat and an almost constant headache, as well as several raw patches on my arms, legs, and torso which made the slightest movements painful, although I was too weak to do much moving around.

After a few days of questioning, Doctor Salik, whose name I could now recall, came in to mend my elbow. He applied a local anesthetic before setting the bones and turning on the machine that would fuse them. As the red beam traveled up and down my arm, I asked, "What happened?"

The doctor adjusted a dial and squinted at the screen which I assumed displayed what was going on inside my arm at the moment. "What do you remember?"

"Nothing."

He looked up. "Nothing? Do you remember getting separated from the Fleet and crashing on a planet?"

"Umm . . . I don't know." I seemed to remember that happening more than once, but I wasn't sure when. After being semi-cognizant for so long, I had lost the mental markers that enabled me to think backward chronologically.

Doctor Salik turned off the machine and began testing the range of motion of my arm. "The first step to helping you remember is finding out how much you've forgotten. Let's try orienting you a little better. Do you remember the Destruction of the Colonies?"

"Yes."

"How long ago was that?"

I had to think for half a centon. "About a . . . yahren ago, because . . . we had the . . . anniversary." I would never forget that day. The service was held in the ceremonial hall, and those who couldn't attend watched it on live broadcast throughout the Fleet. Commander Adama had given a moving tribute to all those who had perished during the Destruction as well as on Caprica and in battles since. Everyone had a parent, brother, sister, family member, or friend who was killed, and there wasn't a dry eye anywhere on the Galactica.

"Good. That was a secton before you crashed." Doctor Salik set my arm down and ambled around to the other side of the life pod. He eased into the chair with a small sigh, as if grateful to get off his feet. "Does that help?"

"Maaay-be," I slurred. A light I hadn't noticed before abruptly started flashing in my eyes. I blinked, and Doctor Salik was standing again, pointing his probe at me.

"Starbuck? Can you hear me?"

"Yeah." It felt like the light had seared the back of my eyeballs. "Head . . . huuurts," I said with difficulty.

"You'd better rest now." He pushed the call button, tucked the blanket around me, and gave instructions to the medtech that showed up before he left.

When I woke up, not only was my head a lot clearer, but I also had my first visitor.

"Hello, Starbuck," Commander Adama said, his rich but gentle voice like a glow that brightened the dreary Life Station chamber. "It's good to see you looking better."

"Better?" I cleared my throat, my voice still raspy from sleep. "Were you . . . here before?" A little less raspy, but not much.

"I stopped in a few days ago, shortly after you regained consciousness."

"I think I remember . . . but I don't know." I massaged my forehead in growing distress. Now that I had amnesia, would I continue forgetting things? Would I lose pieces of my life without knowing it? Would the memories ever come back to me?

Adama took a seat next to my life pod, close enough that I could just detect the scent of his aftershave, and patted my shoulder. "It's perfectly normal to forget the first few days after waking from a coma. Don't concern yourself about it." He smiled. "You didn't miss out on much."

"I was in a coma?"

"Yes. Didn't Doctor Salik tell you?"

"No. He just . . . asked a bunch of questions . . . to help me remember . . . what happened. I forgot everything . . . after the Destruction . . . anniversary." My hidden fear spilled over. "Will I . . . ever remember?"

The Commander nodded. "In time, you will most likely remember. It's no surprise you have traumatic amnesia considering your physical condition. You've been through quite a lot. Although you were still alive when we found you, it was a long time before we had any real hope that you would make it. Your survival is truly a miracle."

Being a religious man, Commander Adama didn't speak of miracles lightly. For the first time, I began to realize just how serious my injury was. It was strange to know that I'd been centimetrons away from death and yet have no idea how I'd gotten there.

"How did you find me?" I asked, rubbing my face.

"I think that is a story for another time," said Adama. "Cassiopeia warned me not to keep you talking for too long."

"You mean . . . you're leaving?" I couldn't quite keep the disappointment out of my voice.

Adama threw a glance at the door. "I think it would be all right to stay as long as you remain quiet. Let me know if you begin to feel worn out, all right?"

"Okay."

I was careful to be quiet and relaxed as Adama related the story of my discovery.

"You were floating in space in a Cylon Raider," he began. "Boomer and Sheba were on a routine patrol when out of nowhere, the Raider appeared on their scanners. It was drifting toward the Fleet, careening in all directions. Since this behavior would be illogical for Cylons, Boomer had the insight to scan for lifeforms, and he detected a human life. Taking every precaution, he and Sheba attached tow lines to the Raider and brought it into the landing bay. A group of Warriors stood at the ready, and Cassiopeia and Doctor Salik were present with emergency medical supplies. The hatch was opened, and when nothing emerged, Boomer and Bojay went inside. They returned carrying your body."

He paused and gave me an appraising look. "How are you doing so far?"

I opened my mouth to speak, but coughed instead. Adama picked up a water bottle from the small table by my head and held it so I could drink through the straw.

"Would you like me to continue?" he asked. I nodded.

"When we found you, you appeared to be dead. Your vitals were so weak they were almost undetectable. Almost. When we realized you were still alive, you were rushed to the Life Station and put on a ventilator to help you breathe. You were dangerously dehydrated with a low blood volume and required intravenous fluids, as well as nutritional replenishment since you were near starvation. You had also sustained a fractured elbow, a minor head injury, and some bruising and lacerations. Based on your overall condition, you should not have been alive at all. As it was, you were critical for seven centars and, after partially stabilizing, remained comatose for two days. Then you awoke briefly six days ago, and you know what happened after that. Does that answer your question?"

"Yes, sir." There were still several unanswered questions, like how I ended up in a Cylon Raider or when I could take these annoying nasal prongs off, but none that Adama could answer. I was just grateful that he gave it to me straight so I knew exactly what was going on, at least as much as anyone else did.

It was then that Cassiopeia appeared in the doorway. "Time to leave," she said cheerfully, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear.

"I'll be right out" Adama called. "Goodbye, Starbuck. It was good to talk to you. I'll come see you again soon."

"Thanks," I grinned. He squeezed my hand and left.

As promised, Adama visited again the next day, and he was soon followed by others. First was Apollo, more haggard than usual. After we shared brief brotherly hug, he became serious.

"You gave us quite a scare, buddy," he said, his eyebrows fixed in the no-nonsense frown he used when I had crossed the line. "I don't know what made you think it would be funny to convince everyone you're dead and then come back and surprise us, but don't you ever do that again, understand?"

"Don't . . . come back?" I teased.

Apollo gave me the unimpressed look that followed after I tried to convince him I hadn't crossed the line. "You know what I mean." His jaw suddenly tightened, and he turned his head to stare at the floor in the other direction for several microns. "I have your stuff," he said at last. "It's all in a box in my quarters."

"Fumarellos?"

He snorted, as if caught by surprise. "Of course. Did you think I smoked them all? Don't flatter yourself; your going missing in combat is not enough to make me like them."

"Bring . . . me one?"

"No."

"But I . . . almost died."

"Exactly. Anyway, you're still on oxygen, which you may recall is highly—" He broke off as the medtech, a different one this time, came in and told him it was time to leave. I winked at him as he walked out, a slight laugh and a head shake rewarding my efforts.

I had to reuse the fumarello joke when Boomer came in the next day. After the initial greeting, the first words out of his mouth were, "I actually came to apologize." He paused for a long time, shifting on his feet. "They told me you don't remember when you crashed, but – I can't forget it. I left you behind. And I know I was just following orders, but if I could do it again, I would have gone back to get you after warning the Fleet. So, just thought you should know . . . I'm really sorry."

At first, I was at a loss of how to respond to this. I was the one who urged a more conscientious Boomer to bend the rules. And, knowing Boomer, he must have been completely justified to even consider leaving me behind. Under ordinary circumstances, it would have been difficult for me, of all people, to persuade him he had done the right thing by obeying orders, but it was even harder when I only had the strength to construct short, incomplete sentences. Nevertheless, I managed it, and Boomer was almost smiling when I was done. He too refused to sneak me any fumarellos, but he did say Apollo needed me back on his team for Triad, since Apollo hadn't been doing so well against Boomer's team in the last few matches.

It was interesting how during this particular visit, Cassiopeia permitted Boomer to visit for longer than any of the others, almost as if she knew his problem would take time to straighten out. I was glad she did, but the conversation drained me so much that afterward I slept for the rest of the afternoon and into the next day. When I woke, Cassiopeia was tidying up the room, but she came over as soon as she saw I was awake.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, taking a reading with her portable probe.

"Better," I said, realizing it was true. "I think I'm . . . getting stronger."

"Good. And your vitals are good." She replaced the probe in her uniform pocket. "Doctor Salik wants you to begin physical therapy today, if you're up to it. We'll just be doing stretches to start."

"Sure."

Cassiopeia pulled the blankets off, expertly folded them without letting them touch the floor, and placed them on the chair next to the life pod. "Let me know if you get cold," she said. Considering I was wearing nothing but a pair of loose pants and, I assumed, underwear, that was a definite possibility. "Now I'm going to bend your leg like this." She proceeded to lift my foot and push my knee backward until it was bent almost double, then straighten it out again. She repeated this motion several times. I tried to help and found that my legs were stiff and surprisingly weak.

"Are you my . . . uh . . . main medtech?" I asked. "Cause I seem to . . . see you a lot."

She put my foot down and started on the other leg. "Well, Myrina and I switch off, but I've been doing a lot of your care, especially when you were in critical or guarded condition and needed frequent monitoring." She raised an eyebrow. "Why, is that a bad thing?"

"Oh, no," I said hastily. "I just . . . never had you before."

"I think this is the first time you've stayed in the Life Station since we met. That's an impressive record for a Warrior."

I grunted. "Apollo hasn't . . . been in here either. He broke . . . my record."

"Actually—" She paused, holding my foot in midair, before putting it down. "Now we'll work on your arms."

"What? What were you . . . going to say?"

Cass picked up my right arm and began bending it, working carefully around my intravenous tube. "Oh, I just remembered that Apollo was in here shortly before you got back."

"Why?"

"He had a sort of nervous breakdown, and it took a few days of rest for him to get back on his feet."

That explained why he was so subdued when he visited. "Is he . . . all right now?"

Cassiopeia smiled. "I think so." She drifted over to the other side of my life pod and lifted my left arm, stopping to examine it. "Have you experienced any pain in your elbow since Doctor Salik fused it?"

"No."

"Good." She brushed a blond curl out of her eyes before getting to work. "Have you noticed that you are having difficulty speaking?"

"Yeah. And my voice . . . is weird."

"That's because you have polyps on your vocal folds from some kind of vocal stress. Your throat may hurt a little, and your voice is slightly hoarse, but unless it's bothersome we're going to leave it alone for now. Is that why you keep pausing?"

"No. It's hard . . . to make words . . . come out right. I can't . . . remember how . . . to say things."

"Hmm. I'll talk to Doctor Salik about it. He may have an idea what the problem is."

Her expression made me think she wasn't saying all she was thinking. "Do you . . . know what it is?"

"I don't, and as a medtech I can't make diagnoses anyway. We'll see what Doctor Salik thinks."

Apparently even close friends didn't get special treatment. When Cassiopeia donned her uniform, she adopted a conscientiousness which I would never have guessed lay beneath the carefree personality of the socialator. Many women were beautiful, but she possessed an air of mystery which enhanced her attraction. Just when I thought I knew her and could predict her responses, she would completely surprise me. Sometimes the experience was a positive one, but occasionally it wasn't, like when I learned she had been involved with Commander Cain and was still interested in him.  
Suddenly, I thought of a question I had never asked her before — as far as I could recall. "How did you . . . become a medtech? There's no way . . . Doctor Salik would let you . . . without experience."

She smiled. "Believe it or not, around the time you were at the Academy, I was in medical school studying to become a medtech. I was two quatrons away from getting my degree when my father had a stroke and I had to return home to care for him. When he died a yahren later, there wasn't enough money left for me to finish school, so I started working as a socialator."

"You became . . . a socialator to . . . support your family?" I exclaimed, amazed in more ways than one.

Cassiopeia pursed her lips. "I became a socialator to support myself. I didn't have any family left."

I couldn't believe I had never heard any of this before now. Somehow, I'd never thought about what Cassiopeia's early life had been like. Maybe it was a bad reflection on me for not caring enough to ask, but I instinctively avoided asking personal questions since those were the questions I hated to answer. Although my curiosity was aroused, I decided to change the subject.

"Well, it's . . . convenient you could—" I trailed off as those strange flashing lights disturbed my visual field again.

"Starbuck? Starbuck?" I opened my eyes to see Cass bending over me.

"What . . . happened?" I said thickly just as Doctor Salik entered.

"What is it?" he said.

"Something just happened to Starbuck," said Cass. "In the middle of talking, he froze with his eyes open and didn't move or speak for about ten microns. Do you think it's a—"

"Seizure?" Doctor Salik interjected. "Yes, and I don't believe it's the first time." He pulled out his probe and ran it over my skull area. "He probably sustained a brain injury, but it's not drastic enough to show up on the probe. That would be why we haven't detected it before now."

"He also said he has trouble remembering how to speak," Cassiopeia put in. "Could that be caused by brain injury?"

"Mild dysarthria or apraxia of speech," he nodded. "We'll have to do a brain scan to determine the location and extent of the damage. Until then, we'll attach a brain wave monitor to detect any more seizures. And tomorrow we'll do some cognitive tests to assess possible problem areas."

"Uh, hello." I waved. "Can I . . . be consulted? I'm the one . . . with the seizures . . . and the dis-whatever."

The doctor and Cass turned back to face me. "Well, whatever the state of your brain, your impertinence seems intact," Salik said dryly.

"Do you have any questions or comments about your treatment?" Cass asked.

"Nope. Just leave my . . . impertinence . . . alone, okay?"

"I believe that can be arranged," said Doctor Salik. "Especially if you cooperate during your tests tomorrow."

"Promise."

Never in my life did I dream I would call taking tests fun. Blame it on the fact that I'd been doing next to nothing for the last secton, or the fact that the tests weren't the normal kind. There was a hearing test where I had to signal every time I heard a beep in my ear, and a recognition test where I had to identify objects on a screen, decide which ones didn't belong, and similar exercises. There was a test where I had to type several sentences on a keypad as they were read to me, and another where I had to read sentences aloud. The last one was the hardest as well as the most exhausting, and Doctor Salik cut it short when I started having trouble saying even simple words.

After my meal of supposedly nutritious blue paste, he gave me a report on the test results. "Your object recognition and language comprehension are perhaps a little slower than before, but not significantly so. You have mild hearing loss in your left ear which is not the result of a physical problem. You are also exhibiting apraxia, which means you have difficulty forming words but no trouble understanding them. This leads me to suspect that your brain has sustained some sort of injury, but I won't be able to tell exactly where or how bad it is until I can get a brain scan. We'll perform the scan once you have regained a little more strength, probably in the next few days."

With the help of continued visits from my friends plus physical therapy, two days passed quickly. Illogically, I was really looking forward to the brain scan. Perhaps it was because the scan was the only definite event in my future; perhaps my emotions were affected by the many medications Cass administered several times a day; perhaps the idea of finally getting out of this room was exciting enough. Whatever the reason, I tried to get my strength back in every way possible, eating blue paste with relish, working hard at my new upper and lower body exercises, getting off oxygen, and staying awake longer than before.

At last, Doctor Salik came in and told me it was time. He and Cass wheeled my life pod out the door and down a corridor to a room like the one where Chameleon and I had done the neurocell extraction. Behind the glass partition, instead of chairs, there stood a machine one and a half times the height of a man. As we approached, my scalp tingled as if I was already under the scanner.

"This metal plate goes here," said Doctor Salik, taking a large shiny square from Cassiopeia and placing it like a pillow beneath my head. "And now we're going to line you up under the scanner, like so." He slid my lifepod backwards under the machine until metallic walls eclipsed my vision on every side. Their sharp smell was less than comforting.

"Are you all right?" he called.

The sound of my breathing rebounded off the walls. "Yeah."

"Good. I'm going to go turn on the scanner. Just lie still and relax."

"Okay." Footsteps clicked across the floor. Feeling a little claustrophobic, I closed my eyes and listened to the uneasy rhythm of my heartbeat.

A low rumble made me jump as the machine activated. Sweat broke out on my forehead as the rumble deepened, louder and louder . . .

_Only two microns left. The Cylon's visual scanner glowed bright red death as the harsh voice demanded once again, "Tell us the coordinates to the Galactica!"_  
_"No!" I screamed. But the rumbling didn't stop. Five microns . . . seven microns . . . ten microns . . ._

"Starbuck! Starbuck!" Far in the distance, someone was shouting my name. Then I was out in the open again, Cass and Doctor Salik standing over me. Sharp pain stabbed my chest. I couldn't breathe – I was coughing, strangling, suffocating. I was going to die.

"Carbon breather!" Doctor Salik yelled. Someone shoved a mask over my mouth and nose.

"You're okay, Starbuck." Cassiopeia grabbed my hands and squeezed them hard. "Just breathe in, out—"

A few centons later, Doctor Salik took the mask away. I wasn't hyperventilating anymore, but my whole body shook uncontrollably, I was drenched in sweat, and I felt sick to my stomach.

"Check his vitals," Salik ordered Cass. He bent down beside me. "What happened, Starbuck?"

It took me half a centon to even get the word out. "Cylons."

"Cylons?"

I nodded, shutting my eyes as nausea washed over me.

"Let's get you back to your room."

Still trembling, I kept my eyes closed as Doctor Salik and Cassiopeia wheeled me out. Microns after we got into the chamber, I leaned over the side of the life pod and threw up all over the floor. I vaguely heard Cassiopeia repeating comforting phrases in the background. When I was done, I looked up just in time to see Apollo coming through the door. He stopped short when he saw the situation.

"What are you doing in here, Captain?" Doctor Salik demanded.

"What's wrong?" Apollo ignored the question. "Can I help?"

Doctor Salik sighed. "Go get another blanket." Apollo disappeared, and Salik turned to Cassiopeia. "You take care of him; I'll clean this up."

"Thanks, doctor." Cassiopeia grabbed a clean cloth and stood on the other side of the life pod to wipe my face. Apollo returned with the blanket, passed it to Cass, and stood awkwardly by the door while Doctor Salik used the floor cleaner.

Once everything was calm again, Apollo asked, "What happened?"

"Starbuck had a panic attack when we tried to do the brain scan," Salik explained. "When the scanner turned on, he started shrieking and struggling. He said something about Cylons."

"Cylons," I repeated mindlessly. Everyone turned to look at me.

"So he remembered what happened to him?" said Apollo, his voice high and strained.

"We can discuss this later," Salik insisted. "Now, Starbuck needs to rest."

"Okay." Apollo came closer and placed his hand on my knee under the blanket. "Feel better, buddy."

I nodded and closed my eyes. The door opened and shut, then Doctor Salik spoke in an undertone to Cassiopeia. "The worst of the attack is over, and the shaking and other symptoms should disappear soon. It may take up to a few days to fully recover. All he can do now is sleep."

_**Okay, really sorry about the wait. This chapter was hard to write! Rather, it was hard to decide what I needed to write. And somehow it ended up longer than the last one? Anyway, since I'm on summer break, planning on cranking out more chapters in a much more timely fashion (maybe every two months instead of five haha).**_


	6. No Warmth, No Love, No Companionship

Chapter 6

"You're okay. It was just a dream."

The light was turned down to a soft orange glow, drawing long shadows from the edges of the cabinets and machines. It lit Cassiopeia's hair like a ring of fire around her head — if I'd been in a romantic mood, I might have called it a halo, but I felt anything but romantic. The echoes of screams, fear, and pain pulsed with every heartbeat that pounded in my ears. I took deep breaths in an attempt to stop panting like a daggit and calm down.

"Do you feel all right?" Cassiopeia asked. "You look pale."

"My head hurts again," I said, pinpointing what I hoped was the only reason I didn't feel well at all. "Right here." I reached back to indicate the base of my skull.

"Don't touch that!" said Cass the moment my fingers brushed bandage. "That's where Doctor Salik performed the craniotomy to inject the medication. Let's see if this helps —" She pressed a few buttons on the monitor connected to my intravenous feed, sending pain relief into my system.

"What's a craniotomy?" My idea of what the morning's procedure had consisted of was pretty vague. Two days after the attempted brain scan that unlocked my worst memories, I went in for a second attempt that was successful — mainly because I was sedated. Afterward, Doctor Salik told me the scan found that I had "scattered neural burns" which he would treat by injecting a restorative chemical into my brain. The day after that, which was today, I was put under for a few centars while he injected whatever it was he was going to inject. I wondered if I would emerge thinking I was a two-headed blue Boray or perhaps speaking Gemonese, but I ended up being mostly sane, besides maybe asking Apollo and Boomer why planets are round a few too many times. They were good sports about it though, and took turns sitting with me while I got over the effects of the anesthesia and answered periodic interrogations about who I was and where I was.

"A craniotomy is small hole in your skull." Cassiopeia pulled at the edge of my blankets to get the wrinkles out. "It's what was used to access your brain."

_Access my brain_. The words couldn't help but remind me of the horrors I had just revisited. An involuntary shudder traveled up my spine.

"What's wrong, Starbuck?"

"Nothing." From a medical standpoint, this was true. As far as anyone could tell, the procedure was a success. I could speak normally, and my hearing was not only improved, but enhanced. All my senses were. Cassiopeia told me this was normal when I remarked that I could smell the fruit on the duroy plant all the way across the room. Sheba had obtained the plant from the Agro Ship and dropped it off while I was in the procedure. The purple pods weren't just any fruit — they were my favorite, and the fact that she had gone to the trouble to find that out and get it for me earned her a promotion in my book.

"Was it your dream?" Cassiopeia spoke softly, hesitantly. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"What do you think?" I snapped, resisting the pull of unpleasant thoughts.

Cass bit her lip and looked away. Part of me wanted to apologize, but part of me was afraid of letting my guard down too much. I ended up staring at the duroy until she spoke.

"Starbuck, I know you don't want to talk about what happened. But you need to deal with it as soon as possible. I wouldn't ask if it wasn't to help you."

"I already told Doctor Salik about it." Actually, what I told him was the condensed version, leaving out any mention of Cy and referring to Angela and her baby merely as the reason I didn't leave in my own escape pod. My account of the torture took about three sentences, stuck religiously to the facts, and skirted around my elaborate hallucinations.

"I know you did, but you . . . you won't talk about it at all. It isn't healthy. If you don't control the memories, they will control you until you become at high risk for combat trauma."

"In case you haven't seen my record, I'm already at risk," I said. "Apparently it's an automatic bonus when you grow up an orphan. I heard all that felgercarb when I joined the military."

"I don't care about your record, I care about you," she pleaded. "I'm worried about you. You've been different ever since you remembered what happened."

"Maybe I just want to be left alone!" I flung up my hands in exasperation.

"Starbuck—" Cass placed her hand on my knee, but I pushed it off.

"I'm fine! Just leave."

She hesitated for a few microns, but then she rose, turned down the light, and left. After simmering in my frustration for a bit, I fell face first into heavy sleep.

Shortly after first meal the next morning, the medtech Jolet who was covering morning shift announced that I had a visitor. I was not in the mood to see anybody. Mealtime had been an ordeal since I had a stress stomachache and wasn't too hungry, but Jolet kept demanding I hadn't eaten enough until I lost my temper and yelled at her. The last thing I wanted to do was be civil while whoever had the nerve to visit so early slogged through small talk. Jolet, however, ignored all my protests and ushered in Apollo.

"Hey, Starbuck!" He smiled too widely. "How are you doing?"

"Don't want to talk." I shifted my gaze to my blanket, away from his infuriating cheerfulness.

"We don't have to talk. I just want to visit you for a bit." He sat down, leaving me to wonder how his definition of a visit did not include talking.

After a centon of silence, I couldn't handle it any longer. "Why are you here?"

"Why shouldn't I be? You're my best friend and you had a procedure yesterday. It was fine for me to visit yesterday. Is there a reason why you don't want to see me now?"

"No, it's just . . ." Suddenly, it all clicked — the way he was justifying himself, the leading question. "You're here because Cassiopeia asked you to come, aren't you? You want to get me to talk about what happened." My voice got higher and louder as I talked. "Well, you can leave right now, because it's not going to work!"

"Starbuck, I don't —"

"Stop playing games! You can't fool me. I know what you're doing and you can't make me talk. I can resist Cylons, for Sagan's sake — I can definitely resist you!" At first I had only felt betrayed, but now panic took over. My best friend was trying to push me back into that black hole of horror, and I didn't know if I could stop myself from falling in.

"Wait, just listen —" Apollo grabbed my arm.

"Let me go!" I shrieked, yanking away. "Leave me alone! I don't want to talk about the torture, and you can't make me!"

"Buddy, listen to me." His voice was quiet, forcing me to calm down enough to concentrate. "We are not going to talk about it until you're ready. I give you my word. Okay?"

I didn't realize how tense I was until my whole body went limp. "Okay." My hand raked through my hair of its own accord. What had just happened to me? In a micron I had gone into full-on survival mode while talking to Apollo, of all people.

"Sorry," I muttered. "I don't know why I did that."

"Don't worry about it," Apollo shrugged. "You just had a procedure, and you're still on painkiller. It's normal to feel a little . . . off."

I grunted and punched the bed. "Why does everyone keep telling me things are normal?"

"Because you've been through trauma that no one could even imagine in their worst nightmares." The words and their tone quickly drew my attention to his face, which was almost haggard. "We just want to reassure you — and ourselves — as we cope with that."

A shadow engulfed his eyes. "Starbuck, I'm going to be completely honest with you. Cassiopeia did ask me to talk to you, and I was hoping to get you to talk about the torture. I'm concerned about you — we all are. What you've been through is too much for one person to handle all by himself. And we thought it might be easier for you to talk to me because you wouldn't have to explain much to me."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, because . . . I already know what it was like since I was there."

Time seemed to stand still as I processed the words, then micro-analyzed his face to see if he meant what I thought. A short laugh escaped. "You . . . you were really there?"

"Yeah, I was there. I was connected to you."

Another laugh, almost hysterical, which I clamped down on quickly. "But that's impossible. I was hallucinating."

Apollo shook his head. "It was no hallucination. The Beings of Light joined us. They pulled me to the Ship of Lights in a dream. When I woke up, I thought it was just another nightmare, until I learned what had happened to you."

I had told no one of my hallucinations. There was no way Apollo could have come up with a story like that on his own.

"Then you know . . . you felt . . ." My voice cracked. It was true. Apollo had gone through Hades for me.

"I understand why you don't want to talk about it." He reached out and took my hand, and I didn't resist. "It was the most painful, terrifying experience possible. But you made it, buddy. It's all over now. You survived."

"With your help." My voice came out distorted after squeezing past the fullness in my throat. "Why?" His face was a blur; I couldn't see anymore. "Why did you do it?"

It was a moment before he answered. "They told me it was the only way to save you. Of course I said yes. They knew I would — that's why they asked me."

My vision cleared to reveal Apollo blinking back tears of his own. His voice was shaky as he said, "I've lost my brother, my mother, and my wife. I couldn't bear to lose my best friend too."

The words made me hurt for Apollo almost more than I hurt for myself. This war had snatched away so many of the people he loved in the past yahren. After the initial grief he outwardly continued performing his duty the way he was trained to do; I was one of the few people who had seen the storm he carried inside. I didn't know what it was like to lose family, but Apollo was like a brother to me, and I knew how devastated I would be to lose him. I didn't know if I could ever make it up to him for adding such grief to his load.

On an impulse, I pushed myself up into a sitting position. Normally I wasn't the type to initiate hugs, but Apollo looked like he could use one right now. "Come here, buddy," I said, opening my arms while having no idea what I would do if he refused. To my relief, Apollo came closer, and I reached around and awkwardly patted him on the back.

"Well," I said, attempting a lighter tone, "like you said, it's over. I'm here now. And thank you for that. I owe you one . . . or maybe one hundred."

Apollo pulled away and attempted to smile. "Since you did come back, I guess we'll call it even." He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "That was a failure. I was supposed to be consoling you, not the other way around."

"We can just call it group therapy," I laughed. "Who says I'm the only one entitled to problems?"

"I don't know, buddy — you've been acting pretty entitled to them lately. It's gonna have to stop unless you want more group therapy."

"That won't be necessary, thank you. This therapy session should be enough to cover every problem either of us has ever had. Anyway, I think I'm ready for a nap."

Apollo rose and slid his chair back. "Then I'll stop bothering you for now." He grinned. "Good to talk to you, buddy."

"You too." He was right: I did feel better. Now I could move on and never have to think about it again.

That evening, Cassiopeia returned for her shift and brought another visitor, one I did not expect. The moment she carried in the little bundle with a face, a flood of memories rushed back: memories of the part of my experience I had almost forgotten.

"Is this the baby you sent to the _Galactica_?" she asked.

The little blue eyes, the nose the size of an insignia, the fist that waved aimlessly in the air — I recognized them all. "Yes," I said quietly. "That's him."

The little guy stared at me, as if he were studying me. "We had a hard time trying to figure out where he came from," said Cass. "He's human, but his DNA is very . . . pure. I can't explain it well; Chameleon could."

I reached out a finger and touched the palm of one miniature hand. The fingers closed around mine, and the baby made a cooing sound. "He's Angela's baby."

"Mm-hmm. And Angela is . . . ?"

"She's a Being of the Light."

Cass was wearing a dubious expression. "Okay," I backtracked, "I can't explain how she could have a human baby, but I know without a doubt she did. I was there, and I delivered it."

Cassiopeia's eyebrows shot up. "You delivered this baby?"

"Of course. We were the only two people on the planet; what else was I supposed to do?"

The dubious look was back. "And you'd never met this Angela before?"

"Nope." Suddenly, I had a suspicion of where the questions were leading. "This is not my baby, if that's what you're asking."

Cass opened her mouth, then shut it. "The timetable would be impossible," she said dismissively. "Would you like to hold him?"

"Sure."

She laid the bundle on my arm, and then those piercing blue eyes were looking up at me. "I hope you don't mind that I already gave him a name," she said.

The baby yawned, triggering the same response in me. "Why should I mind?"

"You are the closest living relative we know of."

I hadn't thought of that. This little guy was, for all practical purposes, an orphan. With Angela gone, I was the only person with a connection to him.

"What's his name?" I said, stroking his arm with my finger.

Cass smiled. "His name is Sidus. It means 'child of the stars.' I thought it was fitting."

Sidus. It had a nice ring to it.

"Hey, Sidus," I said softly. His eyes locked onto mine, and he gave a little squeal. In that moment, I renewed the promise I had made to myself back on the Cylon basestar; no matter what it took, I was going to make sure this baby was well taken care of. "Yeah. It is a fitting name."

Now that my brain was repaired, recovery proceeded much faster. At first I couldn't stay awake for more than a few hours at a time, but eventually I got my daily sleep time from 17 centars down to about 12. I actually started to enjoy physical therapy, especially when I began walking. As soon as I could walk for distances with a support device, my friends would come and take me for walks around the ship. Apollo gave me back my old uniform so I didn't have to appear in the lounge wear I was given in the Life Station. When I put it on, however, it fit so badly I almost thought he'd given me someone else's uniform. It was then I realized how emaciated I was. I used to be a skinny kid, and after eating minimal amounts and staying sedentary for about a quatron, I had lost most of the bulk I'd managed to build up since Academy days. Physical therapy was strengthening my muscles again, but eating was still difficult. Doctor Salik prescribed medication for my stress stomachaches, but even when I felt okay I didn't have much appetite.

Soon I also found out the hard way that just because my brain was healed didn't mean it was as good as new. A secton after my procedure, Boomer, Jolly, and Sheba converged on my room with portable chairs and a small table for a game of Pyramid.

"You guys do know I already simulated this game while I was flying home, right?" I said.

"You mean with us four?" said Jolly.

"Out of curiosity, who won?" said Boomer.

"Sheba."

The other two laughed as Sheba tossed her hair the way I had imagined. "I hope you boys are prepared to be knocked halfway across the galaxy," she jibed.

"You better hope we don't have a rematch, 'cause I might knock you right back," said Boomer. "I'll deal."

When I picked up my stack of cards, it felt like order was restored to the universe. Then I looked down. The hand I'd been dealt wasn't a particularly bad one — or was it? I stared at the cards, trying to think through what I was supposed to do. The more I looked at the colors and symbols, the more confused I became. Two green level ones . . . I needed a red level two and a brown level three. Or was it a brown two and and red three? I had two red threes and a red two. Would it still count if I combined a three and a two with a green one? Had I really taught this game to a Cylon only a quatron ago?

"Starbuck."

I looked up, and Sheba, Jolly, and Boomer were watching me.

"It's your move," said Boomer.

Somehow I hadn't even noticed their taking their turns while I was thinking. I looked back at the cards, racking my brain for the calculations and heuristics that had made playing Pyramid as natural as breathing — but they were nowhere to be found. I couldn't concentrate long enough to follow each possibility to its end. It was as if I was starting completely over. A panicky feeling tightened my chest.

I jumped when Sheba placed her hand on my arm. "What's wrong?"

What _was_ wrong? "I-I can't . . . think it through. I can't think! I can't . . ." I dropped the cards on the table and shoved both hands through my hair.

"Starbuck, it's all right," said Sheba, squeezing my arm.

"We don't have to play Pyramid right now," Boomer put in. "We can play a different game."

"How about Singular?" suggested Jolly. "Or Aeries Lightning? Maybe we could build a card dome."

As their answers followed one after the other like clockwork, I looked at their anxious, eager faces and had a sinking feeling.

"Nah, that's okay, guys," I said, waving them off. "I think I'll lie down and get some rest now. Thanks anyway."

They looked disappointed, but we exchanged the usual friendly farewells. Then they left, presumably to go talk about me behind my back, and I turned on the IFB in lieu of "resting." However, my news-watching was interrupted by an unexpected visit from Athena. I had wondered why she hadn't taken advantage of my invalid state to get my undivided attention, but I soon found out the reason.

Athena, looking anywhere but at me as if she thought my eyes could shoot lasers, rambled something to the effect of how the last few quatrons had been difficult for both of us, and how she had thought I was dead, and a few other half-formed thoughts, until she finally got around to saying she'd gotten into a relationship with Bojay while I was gone. Then she gave me two insignia back, explaining that they were the one I gave her and one of mine Apollo gave her when I was presumed dead, and left before I had said a word.

In the midst of the diethene blizzard of thoughts and emotions that suffocated me for the next centons, one memory came into focus: the night during my third yahren at the Academy when Apollo confronted me about being interested in his sister.

"I've seen how these things go with you, Starbuck," he had said sternly. "You sweep a girl off her feet, spin her around a few times, and then send her flying in the other direction for a hard landing."

He glared when I started snickering at his creative imagery. "I'm serious! Now, if you're genuinely interested in Athena, I think you're capable of having a mature, committed relationship. But if you two-time her or stand her up, I swear that I will make you pay."

Being more intimidated than I cared to admit by the threat I knew he would fulfill, I promised Apollo that I would do neither of these things, and so began my first "mature" relationship. Athena was young, enthusiastic, intelligent, a little naive, and absolutely beautiful. Even though it took more self control than I thought I had, I managed to stay mostly true to her throughout the rest of third and fourth year. I even began to think commitment had its advantages: at least I could always count on Athena to be there. But as soon as I graduated and was stationed on a distant battlestar, things changed. After growing up in the orphanage and then the Academy, I was free for the first time in my life. As I adjusted to life in the service, I realized more and more my independence and the full extent of my powers. It seemed ridiculous to pass up the chance I had with other women when Athena's charms and Apollo's conscience were so far away, and I fell back into the system which Apollo had so vividly described.

Then when I was moved to the _Galactica _under Commander Adama, Athena and I were reunited, and I found out she had waited for me. Although I couldn't honestly tell her I had done the same, I tried to go back to the way our relationship had been, but found it more difficult than before. I had changed; she had not, and after my taste of freedom, I chafed against the bonds of a commitment I wanted less and less. Outwardly, I remained committed, but secretly I pursued my own interests. I took Athena for granted until the night the Cylons shattered our world, and she told me she was no longer interested in a serious relationship with me. More hurt and offended than I expected, I immediately sought comfort in the promising blond socialator from the Gemonese ship. When Athena came running back to me, I found that I no longer had to worry about maintaining a "mature" relationship; if I handled it right, I could have Athena and Cassiopeia at the same time. My relationship with Cassiopeia not only had novelty, but it made Athena just jealous enough to keep competing for my attention. It was the perfect system to keep everyone happy — well, I couldn't definitively speak for the other two, but it kept me happy.

And now, it was over. I couldn't believe it. It took only a quatron of my being gone for Athena to abandon our relationship of yahrens and latch onto Bojay. And even when I was found, she didn't come back like she had the last time. It didn't make sense. Why would she stick with a guy like Bojay? Had she been interested in him before? Maybe there had been something going on between them before I'd even left. But that was impossible; I would've found out . . . wouldn't I?

Suddenly, the truth hit me in the gut. Of course she hadn't come back after seeing me the way I was now — injured and weak, with nothing left to offer. Even I could see it was true. The face that looked back at me in the mirror was emaciated and worn out. My legs were just getting strong enough to walk a few hundred metrons — who knew when I'd be able to play Triad again? I was taking six different medications and supplements, and I couldn't remember how to play Pyramid. All of the assets I had taken for granted since the Academy were gone. No wonder Athena preferred someone strong and whole like Bojay. There was no reason for anyone to be attracted to me now.

Rage boiled up from my stomach and out my ears. I grabbed the insignia and flung them at the far wall, then stamped out of the room and through the main area of the Life Station.

"Starbuck, where are you going?" Myrina, the medtech on duty, called as I passed her.

"For a walk," I shot back.

"It's almost time for your meal."

"Felgercarb!" I shouted, and disappeared through the door.

I headed straight for the Training and Fitness Center and speed-walked laps around the track until my brain was numb and my legs were ready to give out; then I stumbled back to my room, collapsed on my bed, and fell asleep.

A few centars later, I woke up feeling sore and a little hungry. I buzzed the medtech, realizing too late that Cassiopeia was on duty.

In a moment, she appeared through the door. "Did you need something?"

I couldn't look directly at her, knowing how she saw me now. "Um . . . can I have something to eat?"

"Of course." She stopped, bent over to pick something up off the floor, and set it on the side table. My heart sank. It was the insignia.

"Do you feel all right?" she asked.

"Yeah."

With her hand she felt my forehead, then brushed my hair back off my face. The familiar touch was comforting until I remembered it could never mean what it once had. A sigh escaped before I could stop it.

"There is something wrong, isn't there?"

I deliberated over what to say, then asked the question that was burning in my mind. "Did Apollo give you one of my insignia while I was gone?"

"Yes, actually, he did. Once you were gone for a secton and out of range for good, there was a short ceremony, and afterwards Apollo gave a few of your things away to your friends. I think Boomer got your Pyramid cards, and I don't know who else got what, but I was given an insignia." She frowned. "Did you want it back? I can get it from my quarters."

"No. I mean . . . I don't need it . . . but, um, if you don't want it . . ." I trailed off miserably.

"Well, of course, you already have these," she said, gesturing at the two on the table. Suddenly, her eyes widened, and she mumbled, "Oh."

I shifted, feeling my face heat up. Now that she knew Athena had left me, maybe she would use this opportunity to tell me she wanted to move on too. Why would she want to keep pretending? But when I shot a glance at her, to my surprise, her expression was angry.

"Let me go get you some food," she said, and walked quickly out the door. She was gone for about fifteen centons, but when she came back it wasn't just with food.

"Here's some protein with a little chopped duroy," she said, setting the plate on the table with one hand while holding tight to a baby and bottle in the other. "I hope you don't mind if I feed Sidus in here. He's been fussy all afternoon unless I'm holding him."

I said it was fine, and Sidus and I both started our dinner. It didn't take long for me to finish eating, so Cass asked if I wanted to feed Sidus for a bit while she ate her meal. I couldn't really explain it, but as soon as she set him in my arms, I felt more relaxed, like we were both where we belonged. Sidus seemed to feel the same way, and started having a hard time keeping his eyes open while he ate. Then Cass took him back, saying she would burp him and put him to bed. But a few centons later they returned.

"He's still crying every time I try to lay him down," she said. "Could you hold him for a bit longer and see if he'll fall asleep?"

I took Sidus in my arms again while Cassiopeia left with the dishes, and it wasn't long before he dozed off.

"Wow," said Cass when she came back and saw him. "That was fast. Thank you for holding him; he really likes you."

I had to admit, I was starting to really like him too. Cassiopeia took him away again, and I turned on the IFB, but my thoughts kept returning to the little guy. He didn't care how I looked or what I couldn't do. I might not be able to win a game of Triad, but I could feed a baby and put him to sleep — and somehow, that felt almost as rewarding.


	7. All That Work

Chapter 7

For the hundredth time, I reminded myself to stop playing with my jacket sleeve, keep my hands at my sides, stand up straight, and take slow, deep breaths. We reached the conference room door, and Apollo pressed the activator and stepped inside. After pausing a moment to put on my Pyramid face, I followed, swallowing a few times to calm the internal flutters.

The conference table, which ran lengthwise at a right angle to the door, was long enough to accommodate the Council of the Twelve and a few more, but had only three occupants: Commander Adama at the head, and Colonel Tigh and Doctor Salik on his left. Apollo took a seat to the right of his father, leaving me the seat across from the doctor.

"Welcome Starbuck, Apollo," Adama nodded. "Thank you for joining us."

I knew he included Apollo in his statement out of politeness. Everyone, myself included, was well aware that this meeting was about me — specifically, what in the galaxy I could possibly do once I was released from the Life Station.

The question had first come up a secton ago. Somehow Apollo figured out I was going crazy after being stuck in the Life Station for so long — it may have been related to my always asking him to take me on walks when he was off duty — so he arranged a trip to visit the Viper simulators. After not flying for over a quatron, I was excited for the chance to practice, since hopefully I would be cleared to fly sooner. However, our plans abruptly changed. As soon as the simulation began, I found myself rapidly succumbing to motion sickness, and after a centon I had to turn the program off before I lost the little I had eaten that day. I had never had problems flying a Viper before, so Doctor Salik examined me. He found nothing wrong and told me that motion sickness was a normal experience for a healing brain, and it would probably go away in time. But for now, this was definitely a problem; if I couldn't handle a simulator, there was no way I could handle a real Viper.

At that point, based on the speed of my recovery, Doctor Salik said I was estimated to leave the Life Station in seven to ten days. But when I asked how soon I could return to duty, he refused to give me a definite answer, saying he would talk it over with Colonel Tigh to decide what type of duty I was fit for. At first I was worried that I might get stuck with one of the mundane jobs like guarding the computer lab or sorting reports or scanning ships for solium leaks. Then I realized one of those jobs was far better than the other possibility — being completely discharged from the service. This possibility became a secret dread that surfaced every time I caught unintentional hints from Apollo of the discussions that were going on behind the scenes regarding my future. When Apollo finally told me I was to attend a meeting, I knew exactly what it was about, and reacted with more apprehension than surprise when Adama followed his welcome with the announcement of what was to come.

"We have been discussing what you will do once you are discharged from the Life Station," said Adama.

I tensed up at the word "discharged," then heard the rest of the sentence and forced myself to relax.

"Obviously, you will not be able to continue with your regular duties just yet."

So much for relaxing.

"Therefore, after much deliberation, we have agreed upon what we believe to be the best course of action for you to take."

I knew what he was going to say next, and started protesting before I could stop myself.

"But it won't be long until I'm ready to fly again," I said, the slight hoarseness that was now a permanent part of my voice standing out even more in my panic. "I can practice on the simulator so I can handle it sooner, it won't take long to get used to again, I know I can do it . . ." Even as my arguments tumbled out in a rush, I knew it was useless. Adama, Tigh, and Salik were exchanging glances. My heart sank, and I trailed off, heat overcoming my face. That was it. My fate was sealed.

Silence pulled a taut string between us. Then the soft sound of friction alerted me to my hands rubbing up and down my thighs. I crossed my arms a moment before Adama spoke.

"Starbuck," he leaned forward, his gaze reaching out to me across the table, "believe me when I say that we all wish you could fly your Viper again right now. But there is no way to do that without jeopardizing your safety and the safety of others."

"Yes, sir," I said, hesitant to hold those earnest brown eyes.

"There is, however, a course of action which would allow you to prepare to fly again while rendering your services to the Colonial Fleet."

I must have visibly perked up, because Adama smiled. "Colonel Tigh, Doctor Salik, and I have all come to an agreement on the sort of duty you may do for the next few sectons. Taking your circumstances into consideration, we have decided that you would be well suited to flying shuttles throughout the Fleet with Apollo as your copilot."

I blinked. "Shuttles?"

"Indeed," Colonel Tigh spoke up. "Not only are shuttles much easier to fly, but with Apollo as your copilot there will be significantly less chance of an emergency."

"And we know you won't get motion sick," said Apollo. Suddenly, his reasons for shuttling with me to the Agro Ship for a walk three days ago became a whole lot clearer.

"When can I start?" I said, feeling as if this conversation was moving fast enough to make me motion sick.

"You'll be ready to move out of the Life Station in two days," said Doctor Salik. "However, it is vital that you continue getting adequate rest and don't exert yourself too much. Since the officers' quarters isn't quite a restful environment, Apollo has offered to let you stay in his quarters for as long as needed."

I shot Apollo a look of surprise, and he nodded.

"You will also report to the Life Station every few days for a standard examination so we can monitor your progress," Salik continued. "I'm sure that will be accounted for in your schedule, since I will be approving the timetable—" he shot an inquiring look at Colonel Tigh.

"Of course," said Tigh. Judging from the restraint in his expression, he didn't seem to enjoy negotiating everything with the doctor. I could only imagine how much discussion had to take place for them to agree on a plan for my duties.

"Do you have any questions, Starbuck?" said Adama. "Are you content with these arrangements?"

Considering I thought I wasn't going to fly ever again, I was pretty happy with this alternative. "Well, it certainly beats scrubbing turbowashes," I said. Colonel Tigh frowned. "Uh, I mean, it sounds great. Thank you, sir."

Adama stood and extended his hand for a warm handshake. "It's good to have you back."

After we left the conference room, Apollo said, "Are you okay? You seem wound really tight."

I exhaled slowly. "I thought for sure they were going to discharge me from the service."

Apollo stopped short. "What gave you that idea? You can still perform a lot of duties that don't involve flying a Viper. Nobody gets forcibly discharged unless they absolutely cannot serve. You know that, right?"

I shrugged. "Yeah, I guess so."

"You don't look convinced enough," he said, starting to grin. "But I'll bet a round at the Officers' Club would help."

I smiled. "Maybe it would." Then a thought occurred to me. "Do you think I can? I am on a lot of meds." I looked at the ground, slightly embarrassed.

Apollo clapped me on the back. "I'll find out." He reentered the conference room, emerging a centon later.

"You're allowed one drink, and only one," he announced, "and I'm supposed to warn you that it might make you very drowsy because of the meds you're taking, but those are the only conditions."

"Then what are we waiting for?"

After going without ambrosa for two quatrons, one drink was just enough to help me forget all the covert glances in my direction and the whispers that followed as we sat in the Officers' Club, and forget the thought of being discharged from service, and forget that I was taking six medications and had had my very own room in the Life Station for the last several sectons. It felt like old times again as Apollo and I sat together and talked; the only difference was, none of the guys I knew came over to join us, and I was so drowsy after finishing my drink that I would have fallen asleep on the table if Apollo hadn't practically carried me out.

The next day, Doctor Salik performed evaluations of my physical and mental condition. The results were that I had progressed well so far, and if I continued exercising and getting proper nutrition, I would continue to progress. However, the doctor would only release me on the condition that I kept taking all my medications twice a day and came for check-ups every two days until further notice. Even though I was leaving, it seemed the Life Station was determined not to let me escape completely.

The following day was the day I moved out for good. I didn't have a lot to take with me; most of my stuff was still in Apollo's quarters. I hadn't asked him whether he'd gotten back those belongings he had given away to people, but didn't really want to open up that subject for discussion. With a small bag over my shoulder and Apollo at my side, I stepped out of the Life Station and stood still for a moment in the corridor, dramatically inhaling the freedom in the air — which made Apollo laugh.

When we got to his quarters, Apollo directed me to his room. "You'll be sleeping in here, and I'll be sharing Boxey's room."

"Is he okay with that?" I half joked, dropping my bag next to the bed which looked a lot softer than any Life Station bed.

"Oh yeah. You wouldn't believe how excited he is that you're staying here. He wanted to stay out of school today to be here when you came, but he needs the education, and I thought you could probably use the peace and quiet while you can get it."

Since Apollo and I weren't scheduled to fly shuttles until tomorrow, I had the whole day free. After taking a self-guided tour of the _Galactica_ to reacquaint myself with my favorite spots and enjoy my new-found freedom, I ate with Apollo, took a nap, went for a walk, and then watched the IFB until Boxey came home.

As soon as he walked in the door, he called out my name and ran over to give me a hug, daggit following close behind.

"I missed you so much!" he said into my shirt. "Dad said I couldn't come see you because you were on decon percos . . ." He looked inquiringly at his father.

"Decon precautions," Apollo prompted.

"Yeah, and I was sick, but I'm all better now, and look, I lost a tooth yesterday!" He smiled widely to reveal the gap, which I properly admired.

"I have it in my room; I can show it to you if you want. And guess what? I taught Muffit a new trick! Muffit, clap."

The robotic daggit sat down and clapped its front paws together a few times. After I complimented Boxey and his daggit, and before Boxey could start into another round of chatter, Apollo sent him off to run around the corridors a few times before we ate. This did nothing to lessen his energy during dinner, and he entertained us with various stories from the day until he went to his room to begin homework.

"I apologize if Boxey's excitement is a little overwhelming," Apollo laughed when he was gone.

"It's okay," I shrugged. "It's nice to have some non-adult conversation for a change. But I do see what you meant about the peace and quiet!"

After a decent sleep, I was ready to begin my first day of work. Getting in the pilot's seat and communicating with launch control through the headset started an adrenaline rush that culminated when we exited the launch bay and burst out into space. Apollo let me handle the controls for some of the flight, and my hands remembered exactly what to do and how much pressure to apply. The excitement carried me through two roundtrip flights, but by the third, I began to feel a little fatigued. The low hum of the pulsar and the endless expanse of stars lulled me into drowsiness, and I started nodding. Finally I dozed off completely, waking anywhere from a few microns to a few centons later, horrified.

"Sorry!" I said, rubbing my face hard, "I didn't mean to fall asleep, I promise."

"Hey, no big deal," said Apollo. "I've got it covered. You sleep all you need to."

I stared at him. "But . . . it's against regulations. You can get put on report."

"Buddy, you just had brain surgery and you're still on medications. Your body's going to make you sleep whether you want to or not, so it's better if you don't fight it. We can take a break once we get back to the _Galactica_."

"But who's gonna fly the shuttle?"

"There's a backup team ready to trade off with us whenever we need a break," he explained. "That way our schedule's fairly flexible."

"Oh." I was silent after that, marveling at the planning that had gone on to accommodate me.

Over the next secton, I fell into a basic schedule of flying a few roundtrips until I couldn't stay awake, going back to Apollo's quarters to eat and sleep, then flying for a few more trips until it was time to eat again. At first, Apollo watched me very carefully, constantly reminding me to take my medications, visit the Life Station, and eat more food. But after getting multiple admonitions in a row, I got mad enough to yell at him in front of Boxey and then walk out. Once I cooled down and felt bad, I came back and apologized to both of them, and Apollo promised to cut me some slack. He even started letting me nap while riding in the shuttle instead of sending me back to quarters. It was a good thing, too, since I didn't always sleep well at night. I'd been having nightmares a lot, and sometimes woke up shrieking or moaning, with Apollo always there to talk me back to reality. I didn't have to ask if Boxey could hear me. As the days went on, and I lost my temper at little things, and violently startled at loud noises or someone coming up behind me, and spent the nights tossing and shrieking, Boxey's initial excitement at my presence wore off. He started tiptoeing carefully around me, and stopped speaking to me, and avoided eye contact. When I tried to talk to him, he gave short, timid answers before hurrying away. He was afraid of me now, and I couldn't really blame him . . . I was kind of afraid of myself.

By the second secton, I had built up confidence in my flying ability and stamina. Besides being at home with the controls, I could stay awake for longer and wasn't as exhausted at the end of the day. Overall, things started looking up. But the one thing that didn't improve was the nightmares. Every night I dreaded going to sleep, knowing there would be little rest as I revisited the torture in flashbacks.

One night was especially bad, to the point where I woke up almost every centar. Sometime in the middle of the night, Apollo brought a blanket into my room and slept on the floor next to the bed so he could be there right away to calm me down. In the morning, I woke up more hoarse than usual from all the shrieking and feeling completely drained.

"Do you want to take the day off?" Apollo asked, looking rather tired himself.

"I don't know. I don't want to sleep anymore."

"Maybe we should get Doctor Salik to take a look at you. It's not good for you to not be sleeping."

As soon as he mentioned Doctor Salik, I shook my head vigorously. No way was I going to the Life Station when I didn't need to. "I'm already seeing him tonight. I'll be fine until then. Let's just get going."

To my relief, Apollo consented, and we got ready for the day. In the process of getting out the door, he forgot to make me eat, which was a plus since I felt none too hungry, and I was definitely not looking for an argument.

When we reached the shuttle, our first passengers were none other than the Council of the Twelve.

"And why, may I ask, are you so late in arriving?" Sire Geller spoke up when we entered the shuttle, his icy blue eyes flashing with indignation.

"Begging your pardon, Sire Geller," said Apollo, "but the shuttle isn't scheduled to leave for another ten centons."

Geller stuck his bony finger in the air. "Standard procedure dictates that the shuttle pilots be present on the shuttle at least fifteen centons before takeoff. Therefore, you are five centons late. If it happens again, you will be put on report."

It took all my self-control to keep from saying "Felgercarb!" out loud, but I settled for whispering it instead. Apollo, with restraint in his voice, said, "Noted for future reference," and sat down at the controls.

The tension continued as Apollo and I began the launch sequence. Weary though we were, we couldn't afford to make the smallest mistake, or the Council would write us up for incompetency. Sweat stood out on my forehead by the time we launched into space.

We had only been flying for about twenty centons when Sire Domra began complaining loudly about how his safety belt was twisted, and what a safety hazard it was. Then he threatened to talk to Colonel Tigh personally about the lack of proper care of the shuttlecraft to ensure passenger safety.

Apollo sighed, keeping his eyes on the viewport as he navigated between some smaller ships. "I hate to ask this, but can you go back and see what you can do?"

Exhaustion was hitting me full force in the form of extreme fatigue and the beginnings of nausea and a headache. I was having a hard enough time keeping myself awake; the last thing I wanted to do was try to placate an irritable Council member. But the part of the Fleet we were flying through now required precise maneuvering, and Apollo had to stay focused on that. So I said, "Okay," and slowly unfastened my safety belt.

As soon as I stood up, a wave of dizziness made me grab onto my seat.

"Are you okay?" came Apollo's voice from beside me. My vision was fading out, and I couldn't really see him.

"Yeah," I mumbled. I tried to stand still and wait for the dizziness to pass. Instead, my body grew hotter and hotter until I thought I was going to throw up, and then I collapsed.

_"__Your time is running out," the Cylon announced. "Give us the coordinates to the Galactica or die."_

_"__No!" I screamed. "Don't do it. Please don't do it!"_

_He reached for the lever . . ._

"Starbuck? Starbuck, can you hear me?"

Someone was squeezing my wrist. I felt hot and sick and very weak. I gagged, coughed, and opened my eyes to find Apollo looking down at me.

"Don't let him hurt me," I said weakly, clutching at his arm.

"Nobody's going to hurt you," said Apollo. "You're safe. You just passed out. How do you feel?"

Not very good, but my brain was too foggy to isolate what was wrong. "I don't know," I moaned. The top half of my uniform shirt had been opened, and air from the overhead circulator blew directly on my chest, causing me to shiver.

"Can someone get me a blanket from the supply cabinet?" Apollo called.

Noises behind me, and voices. I tried to turn and look, but the movement made me dizzy and sick all over again.

"Lie still, buddy," said Apollo.

Another presence came and knelt down beside me. Siress Tinia. Suddenly, I remembered where I was — and who I was with.

"Here." She handed Apollo a blanket and helped him spread it over me. "Do you know what's wrong?"

"I have no idea." An edge of fear showed through his calm. "He was fine this morning, even though he didn't sleep much last night, but it's not the first time . . . I don't know. Nothing like this has ever happened before. We need to get him back to the Life Station."

"I'll watch him while you take us back," said the siress.

Apollo nodded with relief. "Thank you." He turned to me. "I've got to fly us back to the _Galactica_, but I'll be right over there if you need me."

"Okay." I didn't want to be left alone, but I didn't have a choice. Apollo patted my shoulder, then got up and left.

The position I was in, literally and figuratively, was awkward at best. Of all the times and places in the universe to lose consciousness, on a shuttle in the middle of space with the Council of the Twelve had to be one of the worst. As soon as Apollo left my field of vision, a voice behind me sounding like Sire Domra called out, "Will someone please explain what is going on?"

"Captain Apollo is taking us back to the_Galactica_," Siress Tinia replied. A collective groan followed her statement.

Wedged in the space between the command seat and the wall with my feet sticking out next to my pilot seat, I could only hear the frustration in Sire Geller's voice as he exclaimed, "Then it will be another two centars at least before we reach the Textiles Ship to conduct our examination!"

"You know it's against regulations to fly with only one pilot," said Tinia.

"Except in an emergency," another Council member said helpfully.

The floor began to vibrate as the pulsars activated. I hadn't realized the shuttle was stationary, but now I could feel the force of the shuttle rotating as Apollo began our return trip.

"What should be against regulations is allowing an unstable pilot to fly at all," Domra declared. Murmurs of assent greeted this statement.

"Obviously he is unfit for duty," said someone else.

"After being sent through the pressure dryer by the Cylons, who wouldn't be?"

"What I don't understand is how Colonel Tigh thought him capable of continuing in the service at all."

"Well," said Geller, "we all are aware that Adama — to put it delicately — favors certain individuals. Of course he would be reluctant to discharge the friend of his own son. However, under the circumstances, he cannot possibly deny that this man is no longer able to perform his duties — a fact which I plan to address to him personally."

My stomach twisted. Geller was right. There was no way even Adama could let me stay in the service after this. I didn't want to believe he'd let me stay this long just because I was Apollo's friend, but as I thought about it, that explanation made more and more sense. He couldn't have really believed I could go back to doing what I did before, and I was a fool for letting him tell me so. The only reason I was in the service was Adama had nowhere else to put me. Without family or connections, knowing nothing except how to be a Warrior, there was no one to take care of me and no way for me to take care of myself. I was all alone with no place to go.

"Hush, all of you!" Siress Tinia exclaimed. "He can hear everything you say. And you're wrong about Adama. He does not let personal affection cloud his judgment or get in the way of doing what is best for everyone."

There was muffled laughter, and I could imagine the knowing looks being exchanged. It wasn't exactly a secret that the siress had taken a fancy to Adama after her stint as his aide. Thankfully he wasn't interested enough in her to cause concern. Then again, why should I care whether he was interested or not? As soon as my discharge became official, I would no longer have a say in anything related to Adama. I swallowed hard against the lump that was making my hoarse throat feel even worse and closed my eyes, trying not to think about anything at all. It helped that the Council members were no longer talking about me, at least not audibly.

After what felt like an eternity, Apollo called from the front, "Five centons to docking. How's Starbuck doing?"

Siress Tinia looked down at me. "How are you?"

"Fine," I said, not sure what else to say.

A look crossed the siress's face as she stared at me: one of idle curiosity mixed with a sense of pity. It was the look I had tried in vain to ignore on the faces of my friends, my acquaintances, and those who passed me by over the last quatron. When I saw myself in a mirror for the first time — saw the wear and the emaciation and the corrosion of nameless horrors written all over my face — I understood. And every time I felt the look, it undressed me and left me scrambling for a place to hide.

"He's fine," Tinia called to Apollo. "Conscious and speaking."

"Good." His voice dropping slightly in volume, Apollo continued talking, and from the snatches I could hear I figured out he was calling Approach Control to report the medical emergency per standard procedure. Another dramatic entrance: just what I needed.

Soon, the shuttle slowed and came in for a landing. Moments after we came to a stop in the landing bay, as soon as the hatch opened, two male medtechs appeared. Apollo replaced Siress Tinia at my side and told one of the medtechs what had happened while the other took a vital reading. Then they asked me how I was feeling and if I thought I could get up. I still felt very unsteady, so the medtechs supported me as I sat up slowly and then stood. They helped me walk out of the shuttle and climb onto a stretcher, and then they wheeled me straight to the Life Station, Apollo following.

Doctor Salik was waiting when I arrived. While one medtech helped me get into a lifepod, the other gave Doctor Salik the results of the vital reading, and Apollo reiterated what had happened.

"How long ago did he eat?" the doctor asked Apollo.

"About a centar ago," said Apollo. "I think." He turned to me, and I shook my head.

"You didn't eat at all this morning?" Salik exclaimed.

"No."

"Junon, go get some protein and a cup of malealum juice," Salik ordered one of the medtechs. Then he turned to me. "Starbuck, why didn't you eat this morning?"

"I didn't feel like it," I said flatly.

"Please elaborate," the doctor sighed.

"I was tired, and I wasn't hungry, and my throat hurt from yelling."

"Yelling?"

"He had nightmares all night," said Apollo.

Doctor Salik frowned. "How long has this been going on, Starbuck?"

"A while."

"It was worse last night than before," said Apollo, "at least as far as I could tell."

Doctor Salik pulled his infotablet out of his uniform pocket and made some notes. "And does your throat still hurt?"

"Yeah."

He put the tablet away, told me to sit up, and then placed his hands on either side of my neck and made me swallow a few times. Producing a luminoscope, he looked at the back of my throat.

"Your glands are definitely swollen," he said, trading the luminoscope for a probe and taking a bio reading, "but it doesn't look serious. Temperature and blood pressure slightly low, but that's not unusual with your altered baseline and considering you lost consciousness. You're probably on the front end of a virus, which could explain the disrupted sleep pattern last night and your loss of consciousness today."

"You mean I'm sick?" I said. My thoughts had wandered back to the events on the shuttle, but I tuned in again at the word "virus."

"Yes. But we won't be able to tell with what until I can perform a throat culture and you have time to fully manifest symptoms. Have you noticed anything else out of the ordinary?"

"I don't know." Rubbing my face hard, I resisted the urge to lie down on the lifepod and curl up under the blanket.

"Starbuck's probably very tired after last night," said Apollo pointedly.

"Thank you, Captain, I can see that." Apollo was saved from any more scathing remarks by the medtech's appearing with a tray of food.

"Drink this," Salik ordered, handing me the cup of juice. "And," he turned to Apollo, "your presence is no longer required. Thank you for your assistance."

"How long will Starbuck be staying here?" said Apollo, not moving.

"At least a day or two," said Salik. "Perhaps longer, depending on how quickly the virus runs its course."

"Longer!" I exclaimed. I couldn't afford to be lying in a life pod while Sire Geller persuaded Adama to discharge me from the service. "But I'm not that sick!"

"You passed out, buddy. It's standard procedure."

"Thank you, Captain," Doctor Salik said forcefully. "Dismissed!"

"I'll go get your stuff," Apollo said to me, and left.

"But I need to get back to work!" I protested.

"Starbuck, you are taking multiple nutritional supplements and immune boosters, and you still came to the point of passing out from lack of nutrients and illness. We have a serious problem here that needs to be addressed."

"But I didn't even take . . ." I stopped myself too late.

"Didn't even take what?" Salik came even closer to loom over me. "Have you been taking your medications?"

I edged slightly backward. "Sometimes."

"When was the last time you took them?"

Yesterday? No. The day before? Maybe once . . . "I don't know."

"You don't know? Starbuck, this is not throat drops we're talking about here! You can't stop taking them whenever you want."

"But . . . I'm out of the Life Station now. I can operate just fine without them, so what's the point?"

Salik flung his hands up. "That is the point — you can't operate without them! Why do you think you're in here now? Those medications make up for the fact that your immune system is severely compromised. They give you the strength to stand up and walk when you won't eat enough to support yourself. In your condition, a simple case of influenza or pneumonia could cause enough complications to be fatal. Those medications are the only reason you're out flying shuttles and not permanently bedridden in an isolation chamber. But if that's the life you want, feel free to stop taking them right now!"

There was a long silence as the words reverberated in my mind: can't operate without them . . . severely compromised . . . enough complications to be fatal . . . isolation chamber. A shock-wave passed through my system as I realized that, far from being mostly recovered, I was barely holding onto my right to life.

"You're saying that I'll have to take medication for the rest of my life, just to live?"

He rubbed his forehead. "Starbuck, I'm sorry. I —"

"You lied to me," I said hoarsely. "You all lied to me. You said I could go back in the service, when you knew all along I . . ." My voice cracked, and I felt a burning at the back of my throat that had nothing to do with a virus.

"We did not lie to you, and I never said —"

"Don't give me that felgercarb." I slid off the life pod and headed for the door.

"Where do you think you're going?" Salik barked.

I punched the activator. "Leave me alone!" I shrieked as the door opened, hurtling myself through and taking off down the corridor as fast as I could.


	8. Solitude and Cold

Chapter 8

The cold metal of the launch tube floor burned through my uniform pants, sending an especially violent shiver throughout my body. I pulled my flight jacket tighter against me and focused on the oily, smoky smell. It was a good smell: the smell of excitement before a battle; of the perfect machine that became an extension of the Warrior like a prosthetic fifth limb; of the yahrens of training leading up to the moment when you pressed the red button and the Raider in front of you burst into flames. It was a smell I wouldn't be smelling much anymore . . . and I was going to miss it.

The furious energy that had propelled me in here was fading fast. It was as if my internal pulsar had failed, and all systems were dysfunctional at best: my throbbing head, my scratchy throat, my shivering extremities. Even curled up in a ball, I couldn't stop shaking. Although losing a lot of insulation in the last couple quatrons made the problem worse, sensitivity to cold was one thing I couldn't blame on the Cylons.

Back at the orphanage, before crashing my Viper or getting blown to smithereens became a concern, my occasional recurring nightmare was about freezing to death . . . which was a concern. One particular day when I was around eight or nine yahrens old, I accumulated one too many disciplinary infractions, and one of the caretakers, Mauka, was tasked to deal with me. Being short on patience, she decided the best way to cure me of my rebellious tendencies was to lock me in a closet for the rest of the day. The problem with this strategy was the beginning of the harsh Caprican winter was upon us, and the closet, being on the outer wall of the building, didn't have much insulation. As the day wore out and the temperature dropped, I found myself alone, forgotten, and fighting to stay warm.

There have been few other instances in my life when time has passed as slowly as it did during those centars. I tried everything — slamming myself against the door, calling out, searching the shelves for a tool to help me escape — until I figured out it was no use. As my body chilled and weakened, the only thought in my mind was that she was going to come let me out soon, and I just had to wait a little longer. Sleepiness came upon me, and I closed my eyes, thinking it couldn't hurt to rest a little until I was let out.

When I awoke, I found myself in the city's emergency medical center being treated for severe hypothermia and superficial frostbite in my extremities. From the conversations I overheard when the medtechs thought I was asleep, I found out that Mauka had completely forgotten me, and someone had gone to the closet for something and discovered me there, unconscious. I also learned that if they hadn't found me when they did, I would have been dead within the next centar. By the time I returned to the orphanage a few days later, Mauka was gone, and I had learned the hard way the truth that would change my life: letting people forget about you can kill you.

From that day on, I refused to be forgotten by anybody. I battled the other kids for dominance, and as I grew in age and experience, my wins exceeded my losses. But fighting was only one side of the cubit; the real trick was knowing when to make an alliance. Thankfully the gods had made me a decent judge of character, or at least able to recognize the fakes. By the time I was old enough to attend the Academy, I had developed the physical and social skills to keep me in the game, and when my natural ability with a Viper came to light, I officially became a force to be reckoned with. In light of my potential, the administration could deal with my mischief using any punishment but expulsion. First in my class to graduate from simulators to a real Viper, with the possibility of becoming the best pilot in the Fleet, I was indispensable.

Once I graduated and got into the military, I was really set up for the good life with free meals, a pension, a place to live, and the privileges and distinction that came with being a Warrior. In return, all I had to do was what I loved doing anyway — fly the fastest ship in the galaxy and shoot up Cylons. On the side, I could use my pension to support my manly vices and my uniform to attract companionship. After a yahren or so, I began to think that I might have finally found what I was looking for: a permanent place of my own, not only in the military, but also in the lives of others. The friendships I'd made at the Academy with Boomer and Jolly and Apollo meant that I would always have friends in Blue Squadron. The fact that Apollo was Adama's son put me on good terms with the Commander, who provided not only his mentorship but also a measure of security that I would stay important to the Fleet and those in charge. My future looked as bright as the Caprican sun . . . until now.

As soon as my discharge from the service became official, it would be only a matter of time before the people I once called my friends would forget about me. It had already started: Athena had dumped me, and Boomer, Jolly, and Sheba were avoiding me. Apollo, Adama, Tigh, Salik, and Cassiopeia had lied to me — in fact, they had gone to elaborate lengths to keep up the farce that I could stay in the service, that I was going to make a full recovery. They didn't want to be responsible for finding a place for me outside the military, but now that the truth was out, they had no choice.

Or maybe they did. If they didn't want to help me, that was fine. I didn't need their help anyway. I was perfectly capable of creating my own life; I'd done it before. With the military pension that came with honorable discharge, I'd have enough currency to live on until I could find a job. Although it was going to be hard to find any job where I could take time off to rest throughout the day and didn't have to concentrate too hard. I still got confused sometimes in the middle of launch procedure, and I hadn't worked up the courage to try Pyramid again.

At least I wouldn't have to factor gambling into my budget. Or dinner excursions on the _Rising Star_. Although I would probably need a lot of fumarellos to keep me sane. Apollo had hidden all of mine on Doctor Salik's orders, so I needed go out and buy a few cases with the cubits I had left. Figuring out where I could live was the next step, since the officers' quarters had been my home for the last several yahrens. I'd have to move to a passenger ship. But most of those were crowded already, and anyway, no matter where I ended up or who was around me, I would still be alone.

There was that burning in my throat again. Tears filled my eyes, and I couldn't stop them. Another system down. In my mind, I stood apart and looked down at myself — weak, friendless, homeless, unable to support myself, huddled on the floor of a launch tube, crying. The mighty Warrior reduced to a pathetic needy orphan. Loathing of what I had become overwhelmed me. This was not the life I had spent yahrens working for. This was not the person I wanted to be. I might as well spend the rest of my existence right here in this launch tube for all the good I was going to do anybody.

Actually, that wasn't such a bad idea. It might be cold enough in here. I was shivering uncontrollably now, and I had lost enough weight to seriously lower my tolerance. Exhaustion was already pulling me under, and I couldn't resist much longer. Once I was asleep, I knew from biology studies at the Academy that my body temperature would naturally lower even more. It would be so easy.

I closed my eyes. A few centons, and I would be free. If there were an afterlife, maybe I'd have a better chance there. Even if I ended up in Hades, at least it would keep me interested. For once, I was glad that sleep came so easily. Just a few more microns . . .

I was not alone. The familiar droning of a visual scanner. I whirled around to find the Cylon I had named Cy standing behind me, laser pointing straight at me.

"Go ahead," I said. "Shoot me. It's what you should've done in the first place."

The Cylon neither moved nor spoke. The endless drone infuriated me.

"Look at me!" I shouted, flinging my arms wide apart. "Look at what you did to me! I try to be your friend and this is how you pay me back!"

Suddenly, the Cylon disappeared, and Cassiopeia stood in his place, calling my name over and over. I tried to answer, tried to move towards her, but my feet were inexplicably stuck to the ground.

"Brain waves indicate sleep," she said, "but he can't come out of it. Something's very wrong. We need to get him back right away."

While I was attempting to figure out who and what she was talking about, she was replaced by the Cylon again.

"I am what you humans call dead," he said as if there had been no interruption. "I did nothing to hurt you."

I laughed sardonically. "Oh really? Then explain how my body and brain are so broken they're not worth felgercarb to anybody, including me! You tricked me into thinking Cylons weren't all bad, and then your people tortured the living Hades out of me. I lost everything, thanks to you, so why don't you just shoot me now and get it over with!"

The Cylon shook his head, laser still pointed at my forehead. "We are friends."

"No, we are not! We are enemies, and we will always be enemies!"

"Friends," he repeated.

I yanked out my laser and shot him right where his heart would be if he were human. "Enemies!" I screamed as he collapsed, his light going out.

An explosion behind me and excruciating pain in my back. I had been shot. I turned around to see another Cylon with his laser drawn. In a flash, it came to me: Cy hadn't been pointing his weapon at me, but at the other Cylon. He was protecting my life. I had just killed the only friend I had. As I fell to my knees, a cry rose up from my gut — "Noooooo!"

"Steady. It's all right."

Something was pushing down on my chest, and I realized I was pushing up against it. My throat felt like I'd been standing over a steam purge with my mouth open. I started coughing hard, and something touched my lower lip, pouring cold water into my mouth. Swallowing the liquid, I latched onto a straw and sucked out more.

"That's right. You're almost awake. Take it slow."

They would come a few times throughout the day to give you water and maybe food and take care of any other basic needs, and then they would leave again, locking the door behind them so you couldn't get out and spread the sickness to the other kids. All you could do was hope that you didn't get too sick to take care of yourself and that it would all be over quickly. But this time was different. There was a sense of dread in my stomach, and I couldn't remember why. Something was wrong. I couldn't bear to be left alone. Something bad was going to happen.

Cracking my eyes open, I glimpsed two blurry forms beside me. I reached out to them, fighting weakness. "Please don't leave," I croaked, my voice coming out like a static-filled comlink transmission.

One of them took my hand. "We're right here, Starbuck," said a deep voice. "We won't leave you."

I blinked a few times until I could see clearly. It was Commander Adama who held my hand, and Cassiopeia who set a water bottle down on the table next to me. My world reoriented itself. I was on the _Galactica_, in the Life Station based on the life pod surrounding me and the intravenous line plugged into my outstretched arm. How did I get here? Dread still hung over me as I tried to retrace my steps in my mind.

"There was a Cylon," I said. More pieces fell into place. "It was Cy! I killed him. He was protecting me, and I killed him!"

"It was just a dream," said Cassiopeia, touching her hand to my forehead. "Don't worry about it."

I shook my head. "No, I didn't kill him. He already died on the planet when the other Cylons came. He saved my life. And now he's dead." I sighed to relieve the weight in my chest.

"Starbuck." Adama pressed my hand. "It's all right. You're safe on the _Galactica_ now."

"Your temperature's lower, but still elevated slightly," said Cass after taking a quick bio reading. "You'll probably feel better if you eat." She turned to Adama. "Do you mind if I go get him something, Commander?"

"Go right ahead." He smiled. "We'll be fine." After she left, he said, "I'd like to suggest that you try and eat whatever you can. It's been a while since your last meal."

I cleared my throat, but it didn't help much. "How long have I been here?"

The Commander checked his chronometer. "You came in about a day ago and have been asleep until now. It seems you've just passed through the first phase of compulsive sleep disease."

"But . . . that's impossible. I've already had it." Living in an orphanage guaranteed you would experience all the childhood diseases that required an infection to build immunity. Compulsive sleep disease was less of a hassle for the kids than for the caretakers, who had to look closely after a sick kid for the first phase of deep sleep and fever for a day or two, followed by the second phase of extreme weakness and a cough that could easily turn into pneumonia or worse. Lucky for me, I got it over with at a young age and enjoyed the rest of my time at the orphanage out of reach of that sickness at least.

"Ordinarily, that would be true," Adama nodded. "However, once you've had the disease, it lies dormant inside of you, and stress and a compromised immune system can allow it to become active again. That is what happened to you, unfortunately."

In other words, I was so weak that I came down with a disease I'd become immune to over twenty-five yahrens ago. Terrific. I couldn't even make it two sectons before landing back here in the Life Station. The events on the shuttle, in the Life Station, and in the launch tube came back to me at last. Now I remembered what was wrong: I was going to be discharged from the service. Sire Geller would have wasted no time in giving Adama the Council's view on the matter. The decision would be official by now. That was probably why the Commander was here, looking for the right opportunity to break the news to me. I swallowed hard. Might as well give him his opportunity.

"If you're here to tell me I'm getting discharged from the military, why don't you just get it over with," I said, conveniently choosing that moment to examine my intravenous line.

There were a few microns of silence. I braced myself for the announcement. Actually, first there would be a lecture on the proper way to address a senior officer, especially the Commander of the Fleet. Not that any of it was relevant anymore.

"Starbuck, what makes you think you are being discharged?"

His blank expression didn't fool me one bit. He was stalling, trying to save face. Pretending he hadn't been lying to me all along.

Like a pressurized cannister exploding, rage went shooting through my veins. "Cut the felgercarb!" I said, slapping the side table without breaking eye contact. The frozen look on Adama's face gave instant gratification, energizing me. "I can't believe you think I'm such an idiot!"

I hoisted myself into a sitting position, holding onto the life pod until my head stopped spinning. Suppressing a shiver as cold air hit my bare chest and back, I spat out, "There's no way in Hades I can keep pretending to be a Warrior. Frack, even the Council sees that!"

Every beat of my heart resonated through my whole body, making it harder to breath. I coughed once to clear my airway. Adama started to open his mouth, but I cut him off. "I may have spent the last quatron in the Life Station relearning how to talk and how to walk, but that doesn't mean I don't know what's going on. You can stop lying to me right now because I already know I'm not gonna make a full recovery. And you only told me I would because you feel guilty since you left me behind to get ripped to shreds by the Cylons, and now that I can't function as a Warrior there's nowhere left to put me because I don't have any family!"

I had turned on all the turbos. No one needed to tell me Adama felt responsible for what had happened to me. I could see it in his eyes, and in the way he, like Boomer, came to see me just often enough and long enough to ease his conscience but avoided me the rest of the time. The orphan line was just a cheap shot, a way to prove to the gods that I would use every particle of the felgercarb they gave me as energy for my own lasers.

It worked. His jaw tightened, and he looked down at his lap, not speaking.

Remorse stabbed me in the chest. I had really crossed the line this time. There was no way Adama would want to keep pretending he cared what happened to me; no way anyone would. My discharge from the military would become official, and I would be left to fend for myself, as usual. Over time, I'd had a lot of practice looking out for number one, and I'd gotten pretty good at it . . . until now.

In a moment, he was going to walk out on me. The door would shut behind him, and just like on the planet, just like on the basestar, just like every day since I woke up in the Life Station — if I were honest, every day since I found myself in the orphanage — I would be alone. All alone.

All the anger had drained out of me, and with it all the energy. The full weight of everything that had ever happened to me fell down on top of me, and without warning, I completely broke down. I couldn't see, couldn't breathe, couldn't stop. All I could do was attempt to hide my face in my hands as raw emotion swept me away.

A form slid in behind me, and two strong arms wrapped around me, pulling me to rest in a solid embrace. They held me as I cried harder than I have ever cried before, until I felt like I would pass out or vomit. They held me as my whole body trembled and I coughed and wheezed and gasped for breath. They held me as I fell down the black hole I'd avoided for so long, hysterical and panicking and out of control. And they didn't let me go.

"Starbuck," came Adama's voice through the chaos, "I love you. I love you so much."

As my world collapsed around me, his words and the tight hug that followed grounded me. I held on to each word, not daring to believe what I was hearing, as he continued to speak.

"I can't tell you how sorry I am . . ." his voice cracked ". . . that it has come to this. You endured the greatest pain imaginable to save the Fleet, and instead of honoring you as you deserve, we have overlooked your combat trauma and pushed you past your breaking point. We neglected to give you a realistic picture of your progress, in part because we had no idea you would ever come this far, but in doing so, we failed to make our expectations clear to you. Starbuck, no one could have guessed you would ever fly shuttles around the Fleet again. For the first few sectons after you came back, Doctor Salik believed you would be confined to a life pod for the rest of your life. But look how far you've come. With your will to live and your outstanding service record, you are the first Warrior I would like to have under my command, and I'll take that up with the Council any day."

While he talked, I had begun to calm down, but his last words caused me to break down again.

"Oh, Starbuck." Adama gently pulled my head to rest on his shoulder. "You are a good man, and I would be proud to call you my son. And I love you. Never forget that."

The weight of constantly failing my duties, violating procedure, and disappointing others' expectations was lifted as I realized that none of it mattered. Adama wanted me under his command. I shouldn't be able to fly shuttles, but I was. And he loved me. He said would be proud to call me his son.

"Thank you," I whispered, unable to find words for a more adequate response. Then I started coughing hard again until I was wheezing pretty badly. Adama pressed the call button, and Cassiopeia came in and fitted me with a medicated humidizer mask to open my airway. As I fought to breathe, Adama kept holding me, and when I finally relaxed, he pulled the blanket up over me and let me lay my head on his chest and close my eyes. Then I fell asleep, knowing everything was going to be okay.


	9. Needing a Friend

Chapter 9

When I opened my eyes, it took me a few centons to figure out what made everything seem so different. The Life Station room was the same one I'd fallen asleep in, with the close gray walls and a row of blinking monitors and buttons on the wall to my right and a sign on the door that said "Decon Precautions: visit decon upon entrance and exit." I was also physically pretty much the same. I could tell my fever was gone, but my throat still hurt like crazy, I was still drained of energy, and I still had a hoarse voice and a persistent cough. But at last, it came to me: for the first time in as long as I could remember, I had slept and awoken without nightmares. And it felt wonderful.

After twenty-five yahrens, there was a lot I had forgotten about compulsive sleep disease. I definitely didn't remember feeling so weak. Usually it took a lot more than a fever or a stomachache for me to actually stay on bed rest longer than a day, but this time none of the medtechs had reason to threaten to call security to keep me in bed. In the midst of normal illness fatigue, there were sudden slumps of a complete lack of energy, and at times I needed a medtech's support just to get up and walk to the turboflush, although I insisted on that level of independence. It may have just slipped my memory, but I was also pretty sure the first time around I didn't have medtechs checking my lungs for developing pneumonia every few centars. Granted, my chest was very congested, and I would start wheezing a bit after heavy coughing fits, but I could still breathe. Mostly.

I also came to realize that my sickness was, on top of everything else, making it seriously challenging to control my emotions. When I hit pockets of exhaustion, I couldn't seem to think straight as the old worries about my future as a Warrior and feelings of loneliness overwhelmed me. And no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't stop thinking of Cy. My vivid dream had brought him back to the forefront of my mind in a way I could no longer ignore. The fact that he'd saved my life didn't match up with everything else I'd seen of Cylons, and it bothered me.

Even though he didn't know about Cy, it took Apollo only one visit with me to pick up on the fact that I was having mood swings. He came to see me after I'd been awake for a few centars, and even though his presence boosted my spirits at first, it wasn't long before I closed up, only giving irritated responses as he tried to talk to me. But Apollo didn't get irritated in return. "What's wrong, buddy?" he said at last. "Is something bothering you?"

I didn't respond for a few microns as I searched for an answer that would make my irrational fears sound more rational. "I just . . . I want to know what's going to happen to me," I burst out. "And I hate being sick, and I _hate_ being stuck in decon precautions." I swallowed hard. _I hate that you're going to leave and I'll be here, alone with my cough and the dark thoughts of my messed-up brain._

Apollo laid a hand on my shoulder. "I know it's hard, and I'm really sorry. I can't fix everything, but I'll do the best I can. You'll have to stay on decon precautions for a little longer — we can't risk you getting another infection while your immune system's down fighting this thing. But I don't have to go on duty today, so I can stay with you for a few centars at least. And Adama's planning to come brief you on your situation sometime today. If you want, I can ask him to come as soon as he gets a chance."

I let out my breath slowly. "That would be nice. Thanks, Apollo."

He gave a half smile and patted the same shoulder. "It's the least I can do. And if there's anything else you need, just say the word. I'm here to make sure you're well taken care of."

Apollo stepped out to talk with the Commander, and returned a few centons later with the man himself. At first, I was nervous about what Adama would say after everything that happened yesterday. But he simply asked how I was feeling, if the medtechs were taking good care of me, and if I needed anything. Then he said he needed to talk with me about my future. He told me after I recovered and got out of the Life Station, I would continue staying with Apollo, and I could work at an even easier pace than before to start off, with the ability to take time off should I want it or Apollo deem it necessary. He said I would also start seeing a counselor to go through therapy for combat trauma.

When I heard this, my heart sank. I hated counselors. At the orphanage, we were required to see one every few years to make sure the institution wasn't turning out thousands of serial killers or otherwise severely traumatized little Capricans. My final counseling experience was right before I entered the Academy at around fourteen yahrens of age. The counselor had been a woman at least twenty yahrens older than I was who asked invasive questions about my personal life, made suggestive comments throughout the entire session, and finished by making a pass at me. Remembering the incident still left a bitter taste in my mouth.

Adama must have noticed my less-than-enthusiastic response to his statement, because he said, "Now, we've tried to choose the best treatments and accommodations we know of to help you, but if there is anything we can do better, or if you have problems of any kind, please let Apollo or myself or someone else know. We will do a better job of keeping you informed about your situation going forward, and we hope you will keep us apprised of your needs and concerns so we can take care of them." He smiled. "We'd prefer that you tell us you need time off before you end up in the Life Station, for example."

I returned his smile and continued smiling as he asked again if I needed anything and playfully warned me to behave since he'd be checking up on me, then left.

True to his word, Apollo kept me company for several centars — most of the day, as a matter of fact. We talked, played games, and watched the IFB together when I was awake, and when I had to take one of many frequent naps throughout the day, Apollo sat nearby reading an infotablet, gently waking me the few times I had bad dreams. He buzzed the medtech when I needed something, let me hold onto his arm when I walked to the turboflush, and helped me use the humidizer mask when I woke up from a nightmare hyperventilating and choking.

"Zac used to have asthma attacks when he was very young," Apollo said once I was breathing more normally again. "I got plenty of experience operating a humidizer." He sighed, caught himself, and looked at me. "And now, I get to help you with it."

It could have been Zac sitting here if I hadn't switched patrols with him. A decision I would question for the rest of my life. With my greater experience, I might have been able to escape the Cylons when Zac couldn't. And even if I had died, wouldn't it be better that way? I could have become the first martyr in the Destruction of the Colonies. Instead, I became the first lab rodent to test out the Cylon's new torture device. And from this side of decon precautions, it sure didn't seem worth it. I still hadn't forgotten the reason I hid in the launch tube. If things got bad enough, I might be tempted to try it again . . . although I would probably opt for a more efficient method.

"Are you okay?" Apollo's voice startled me from my dark musings.

"I'm fine," I said, turning my head to cough. "I'm just tired."

"You look pale." He held his hand to my forehead. "And you feel a little warm. I'm gonna buzz the medtech."

"I'm fine," I said again, but he didn't pay attention. A centon later, Cassiopeia entered the chamber.

"Is everything all right?" she said after a micro-check to make sure there was no emergency. "I just started my shift and I was already heading over here when you called, so that was perfect timing. What's going on?"

"Starbuck's a little warm, and I just wanted you to check on him," said Apollo.

Cass nodded, got out her vitals probe, and took a reading. "Well, your temperature is elevated four points above normal. It's not enough to count as a fever yet, but we definitely need to keep an eye on it. Good catch, Apollo."

"He also just woke up from a nightmare, and he was breathing so fast he had to use the humidizer mask for about five centons before he stopped coughing."

She frowned. "Hmm. I'd let Doctor Salik know but he's not here right now. I'll do the pulmonary function scan, and then maybe I can ask Reena to take over the hub for me so I can watch Starbuck. It's not too busy out there at the moment."

"Good. You'll have a better idea than I will if something's wrong."

I rolled my eyes. Whenever it came to discussing my condition or treatment, the medical staff and whoever else was there tended to talk as if I weren't even in the room. Why didn't they just ask me if something was wrong? Then I remembered how my usual answers of late were "fine" and "I don't know." I guess, since I wasn't fine and I didn't know anything else, that wasn't informative enough.

Apollo stayed long enough for Cass to do the scan and find that I still didn't have pneumonia. Then he said he was going to his quarters to make sure Boxey was getting along all right, but he'd be back to see me again tomorrow.

"I'll ask Boxey if we can borrow his game of Battlestar," he said. "That way we can keep your targeting skills sharp."

I managed a small smile to acknowledge the attempt at humor. "Thanks, Apollo. Thanks for everything."

Once he left, Cassiopeia stepped out for a few centons to make arrangements with her assistant, returning with two plates of protein and hydronic mushies.

"I didn't get to eat yet, so I hope you don't mind if we eat together," she said, placing one plate on the side table and setting the other on her lap as she sat down next to me.

I looked at the gelatinous white protein and dry, spongy mushies and took a deep breath. "I'm not hungry."

There was a palpable silence as Cass looked up at me. A variety of emotions passed over her face, and at first I thought she might be going to cry, but then her expression hardened with determination. "Starbuck," she said, firmly but quietly, "you need to eat. If you don't eat, you won't get better. That's part of the reason you're here in the first place."

"No," I said, exerting all my strength to keep my voice just as firm and quiet, "the reason I'm here is because I didn't die when I was supposed to. I shouldn't have survived on the basestar, but I did. What does it matter if I get sick and die? I'm not even supposed to be alive right now."

Cass shook her head, looking again like she might cry. "What makes you think you're not supposed to be alive? You survived something that by all accounts should have been impossible to survive. You're a walking miracle, Starbuck."

"Is that so? Maybe you should take another look at how much good the "miracle" actually did. Look at me!" I indicated the miserable expanse of what was left of my body. "I'm never going to be anything more than an invalid, making trips back and forth to the Life Station until some random virus kills me off."

"Starbuck . . ."

"If it's not compulsive sleep disease or pneumonia, it'll be something else, so why couldn't I just get it over with now? All this trying to keep me alive . . . there's no point. It's not worth it anymore."

It was out. My inner darkness had come to light, and as I saw how pathetic it was and how pathetic I was, I felt myself teetering on the edge of another meltdown. I turned away as my eyes began to water, determined to stay in control.

"Starbuck."

A hand on my arm, coming dangerously close to unraveling what I was barely keeping together. I pushed it away, frustration bursting out of me in the half-wail, "Why couldn't you have left me in the launch tube?!"

There was a long silence. I didn't dare look at Cassiopeia, and she didn't touch me again. The only sound was the beeping of the nearby monitor, and when I coughed, it seemed as loud as a klaxon going off next to my ear.

"Starbuck?" Cassiopeia's voice was almost a whisper.

"What?" I said hoarsely.

I heard her take a deep breath, in and out. "We almost didn't find you in the launch tube."

At last, I had collected myself enough to turn back to Cass. She was crying.

"How . . ." I cleared my throat. "How did you find me?"

"It took two centars," she said. "When you left the Life Station, Doctor Salik called Apollo, thinking you would be back in his quarters. When you weren't there, they began looking in other logical places — the Officer's Club, the pilots' quarters, the Bridge. Then they contacted all of your friends they could think of, and when there was still no word we formed a search party. We still couldn't find you, so Adama sent word throughout the _Galactica_ and checked with all the shuttles and hangar crew to make sure you hadn't left. We were so afraid of what could have happened to you."

She paused, finally giving my brain a chance to catch up. I had no idea how much effort had gone into finding me. At the time, I hadn't thought about whether anyone would try to look for me. I hadn't really cared. And I hadn't considered that my friends would turn the _Galactica_ upside down to find me.

Cassiopeia smiled ever so slightly. "Then," she continued, "I remembered the time, right after we first met, when we decided the only private place in the whole Fleet was in the launch tube."

I caught the light in her eye, and gave a short laugh in spite of myself. "Yeah, and I got a steam burn from the steam purge right before flying through the red hot Nova of Madagon?"

"From what I heard it was still beautiful flying," she said, her smile expanding. "Although I was thanking the Lords of Kobol my shoe fell between the tracks and I had to go fishing for it right then."

Her expression reflected a hint of the carefree amusement I'd found so mesmerizing when we first met, what felt like yahrens ago. "Believe it or not," I said, "I was too."

Impulsively, she took my hand and held on to it, and I didn't protest.

"I thought about that time," she said, "and I suggested that we look in all the launch tubes. The Commander and I had been paired up to search, so he called Colonel Tigh on the portable com and asked him to check the Bridge scanners while we headed down to the launch bay. The Colonel had to check twice before finding you in Launch Tube 9 since you were on the floor and so far in. Then they called a medical crew with a stretcher while Adama and I went in and found you."

"I think I remember hearing you," I said slowly. "But it seemed like part of my dream."

"You were sound asleep. No matter what we did we couldn't wake you up. And by that time you were not only burning up with fever, but you had chills so bad you were shivering in your sleep as if you were freezing cold."

"I thought I was," I muttered. So much for hypothermia.

Cassiopeia sighed and pressured my hand. "Tell me the truth, once and for all. Did you really not want to be found?"

"No," I said quietly. As I started coughing for a few microns, Cass waited for me to continue. "I just . . . I thought everyone had lied to me, and I thought I couldn't be a Warrior anymore, and it seemed like there was no point in . . . in . . . pretending, any longer." I deliberately let go of her hand to take a drink of water. "I still don't know if there is."

She took my hand again. "Starbuck, listen to me," she said. "There are plenty of Warriors on the _Galactica_ who can fly a Viper and shoot down Cylons. You may have been the best Warrior in the Fleet, but when you were gone for so long and we thought we'd lost you for good, and when you were in the launch tube and half the _Galactica_ was looking for you, do you know what all of your friends were thinking? We weren't thinking, 'What a shame to lose such a good pilot! He really knew how to fly a Viper.' We were thinking, 'Where is my friend . . . my son . . . my brother . . . the man who means so much to me? The one who's always had my back? The one who's like family to me?'" She gave a sad smile. "The one who saved the life of a friendless socialator and brought her into his circle of friends and treated her like she mattered? Who gave her a place she belonged, and people she belonged with, for the first time in her life?"

I shook my head, unable to take the credit she was giving me. "I . . . I just wanted to —"

"To 'help me', I know." Gently, she brushed my hair off my forehead. "But you let me become a part of your family, and now I'm here to tell you that you are still a part of that family. We all love you, Starbuck, and we always will, because we love you for who you are. And whether you can ever fly a Viper again, or do any of the spectacular things that you used to do . . . in the end, none of it really matters. Because you are still you, and that's all we want. That's all I want."

For microns that felt like centars, I gazed into the eyes of the woman who defied explanation. She had seen me at my very best and my very worst. Over the time that we'd known each other, I'd given her every reason to give up on me and walk away. I'd gone from having everything to offer her to having almost nothing at all. And somehow, through it all, she stuck with me. In the Life Station, in the launch tube, and in so many other ways, she had saved my life.

"I love you," I said, almost involuntarily.

A smile slowly spread across her face, shining brighter than any sun. "I love you too."

The rest of the night was a night to remember. Cass took away the protein and mushies and brought back some real food — steaming vegetables and boiled grains covered in a sweet orange sauce — and wouldn't tell me how she'd gotten it. After we cleaned our plates, we talked like we'd both been stuck on deserted planets for sectons. For every funny story she had about Sidus or the Life Station, I had one about the Academy or the antics in the officers' quarters. And when I'd talked and laughed myself completely hoarse and was exhausted to boot, Cass sang Gemonese folk songs and rubbed my back until I fell asleep. When I woke up briefly in the middle of the night, she was still there, her head resting on the side of my life pod as she slept.

In the morning, I woke up feeling reborn. Cass was gone, but I didn't need a medtech to tell me what my newfound energy was screaming — I was well on the way to recovery.

Bouncing out of bed, I indulged in a hot turbowash, then put on a uniform out of the bag Apollo had left for me. By this time, my shaky legs were telling me there might be a limit to my energy after all, so I sat down for a few centons before heading out to the Life Station hub to track down any possibilities for a meal.

As I walked the short corridor, a surprising amount of commotion was coming from the hub. The door opened on a scene of organized chaos. Medtechs were scattered throughout the room tending multiple officers and civilians, some in life pods, some with burns, some bleeding. My breath caught in my throat. There was only one explanation for these kinds of casualties . . . a Cylon attack.

Cassiopeia's voice rang out across the room, calling orders to the other medtechs. I waited while she circled around the room, finally coming close enough for me to reach out and touch her on the arm.

"Cass," I said, and was glad I already had her attention since my voice was barely above a hoarse whisper. "What's going on?"

"The Cylons came upon our patrol three centars ago," she said. "There's been some damage to the _Galactica_, and our Warriors are seriously outnumbered. Doctor Salik's not even here right now because he shuttled to the Senior Ship last night to treat an outbreak of vuncular fever."

Her eyes were glassy, with dark circles underneath. I could practically feel the tension radiating off her rigid posture.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" I asked, turning my head as a cough came upon me abruptly.

She sighed. "Thank you for asking, but you're not even supposed to be out here. You're still on decon precautions. Why did you come out anyway?"

I glanced around the room at all the hurting people, moaning and squirming as the medtechs squeezed pungent ointment onto their wounds and wrapped them in tight bandages. "It . . . it's not important."

Her face relaxed, replacing stress with focused concern. "Do you feel all right?" she asked more slowly. "Would you like something to eat?"

"I'm fine," I croaked, looking away.

"Hartel," Cass called. A tall medtech approached us. "Find Starbuck something hot to eat and take it to his chamber."

He nodded and left, and Cassiopeia turned back to me. "If you need anything else, use the call button to ask for it, all right? Now go back to bed!"

I murmured a sarcastic, "Yes, sir," but she walked away too quickly to hear. By this time, standing up straight was taking more energy than I cared to admit to myself. I was just getting ready to take Cass's advice when a sound caught my attention.

"No! Please don't hurt me. Please!"

The words, spoken in the terrified, half-sobbing voice of a child, turned to cold tylinium in my chest. Searching frantically for the source, I spotted a dark-haired boy about six yahrens old seated nearby, shying away from a medtech. Microns later, I found myself standing next to the boy and asking the medtech, "What's going on?"

"I need to give him anesthetic so I can set the bones in his arm," she replied, waving a hypospray, "but he's afraid it's going to hurt him."

The boy's brown eyes roved wildly, his breath coming in quick gasps. His left arm was bloody and sitting at an odd angle. He raised his other hand shakily in an attempt to fend off the hypospray. "Please don't," he murmured again.

This fear wasn't a simple aversion to pain. This was something more . . . something deeper.

"How did this happen?" I asked.

"He was found under a pile of debris in a section of the ship where the hull collapsed," said the medtech. "His parents were there too, but they were hurt much worse."

"Are they going to make it?" I glanced at the boy, suddenly realizing my question was probably not the best one to ask in his presence.

The medtech bit her lip. "We're not sure," she said quietly.

I crouched next to the boy and placed my hand on his right shoulder. "Hey there," I said, trying my best to sound soothing even while hoarse. "What's your name?"

He trembled under my touch. "Nadur," he murmured.

"Look, Nadur," I said, "everything's going to be okay. This medtech just needs to give you a hypospray so your arm won't hurt anymore."

As I talked, the medtech edged closer, but Nadur recognized what she was doing. "No!" he screamed, jerking backward and fighting against my grip. "Leave me alone!"

Familiar echoes of blind terror sounded in my mind. With an effort, I pushed them away. "Nadur, listen to me," I said, keeping a hold of him. "See this uniform? Look at my uniform, Nadur."

He gradually stopped struggling and looked.

"I'm a Colonial Warrior, and I promise you, nothing is going to happen to you. You're safe. We just want to help you. Are you listening to me?"

He looked up at me, blinking back tears, and nodded ever so slightly.

"Okay, I'm gonna make a deal with you. If you let the medtech take care of your arm, then I'll give you one of my insignia to keep." I tipped the collar of my jacket towards him. "What do you think?"

His focus switched from the insignia back to the medtech, and he stiffened against his seat again.

"Hey."

Reluctantly, he looked at me again. I let go of his shoulder and took his tiny, cold, shaky hand in mine.

"Nadur . . ." I took a deep breath. "There are always going to be times when you . . . when you get hurt. That's part of life. But there are people around you who want to help you be safe and healthy again. They can help you, but you have to let them. You have to trust them. Now, I'm going to stay right here and hold your hand while this medtech takes care of your arm. Nothing bad is going to happen to you, I promise. Do you trust me?"

Nadur hesitated, then nodded.

"Good," I said as the medtech came close again. "It'll be over in a few microns. Just keep looking at me."

While the medtech administered the hypospray and set the bones, I kept talking quietly to Nadur, and he kept a tight grip on my hand. At last, the medtech stepped back.

"You'll be more comfortable now while I set up the fuser," she said.

Nadur looked down at the new splint holding his arm in surprise, as if he'd expected it to hurt a lot more.

"Good job, buddy," I said. "You were very brave. You've got the heart of a Warrior, and you earned this." I took off one of my insignia and pinned it on his collar. "From one Warrior to another."

With his good hand, Nadur fingered the gold star for a moment. The corners of his mouth lifted just enough to form a smile, and the renewed trust in those brown eyes looking up at me declared my mission a success. I stood up, knowing I'd done all I could, but reluctant to leave before knowing whether his parents would be all right.

"Let me know how everything turns out," I told the medtech. Turning back to Nadur, I said, "If you ever need anything, just ask for me. My name's Lieutenant Starbuck. Okay?"

"Okay," he said, his voice a little stronger than before. I smiled.

"Thank you," the medtech whispered as I moved away.

I shook my head. The kid's smile was all the thanks I needed. No matter what happened for the rest of the day, I knew I had made a difference.

Concentrating on helping Nadur had distracted me from my physical state, but now my legs were getting shaky again. I put out a hand to steady myself and ended up holding onto one of the empty life pod wall mounts for several microns as an unexpected coughing fit bent me over almost double. I needed to get back to bed, sooner rather than later.

"Starbuck!"

Turning, I found Cassiopeia standing directly behind me, and she didn't look too happy.

"Why aren't you in your isolation chamber?" she demanded. "Hartel brought back food and you hadn't even showed up yet. I told you to go back fifteen centons ago!"

I swallowed. "Um . . . I was just helping another medtech with something."

Cass shook her head vigorously. "Don't you realize there's a reason you're on decon precautions? You're still contagious to anyone who hasn't had compulsive sleep disease already, and you're also a prime target for the countless infections other people are carrying in here right now! How am I supposed to keep you alive if you violate my orders at every turn?"

I stared at her, speechless. It was only a moment before her anger melted, and she covered her mouth with her hand, tearing up.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm just so . . . I don't know what to do."

Reaching out, I gently pulled her close, leaving room for her to resist if she wanted to. She didn't.

"What's wrong?" I asked, rubbing my hand up and down her back in the old familiar way. I'd forgotten how good it felt.

She choked a little on a sob, but quickly regained her composure. "Doctor Salik called from the Senior Ship. He said the outbreak of vuncular fever has become an epidemic, and if we don't get some more medtechs and medications over there soon, people are going to die. But only an expert pilot could get a shuttle through the battle out there, and all of our good pilots are needed to fly the Vipers. I can't see a way to stop the epidemic, and who knows how many people on the Senior Ship are going to die, in addition to the pilots —" Her voice broke.

The face of Chameleon rose before me . . . the man I loved like a father, even after being disappointed. The thought that he and so many others like him could die while we stood by and watched was too much to stand.

"I'll do it," I said, letting go and stepping backward.

Cass looked up at me with surprise. "You'll do what?"

"I'll fly the shuttle. That's all I've been doing for two sectons straight, and I know how to maneuver around fighters." I took hold of her arm. "And this Warrior's never gonna let the Cylons kill all those people, for as long as I can operate a control stick."

Cassiopeia opened her mouth in what looked like a protest. Then she closed it, sighed, and nodded. "I'll tell Doctor Salik," she said simply.


End file.
